


Something Wretched, Something Precious

by greenwillow



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Forced Marriage, Hate Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Pregnancy, Reproductive Coercion, Sexual Coercion, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27091714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenwillow/pseuds/greenwillow
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Aethelflaed is prepared to follow in her parents' footsteps--brave, pious, and loyal to the Saxon way of life above all else. Having grown up assuming she would marry a Mercian noble, she is quite shocked to learn she will be betrothed to a recently converted Danish warlord. But before the arrangement can be formalized, she’s abducted by Lord Aethelred of Mercia and persuaded into marrying him, perhaps against her better judgment. Over the coming months and years, Aethelflaed struggles to navigate an increasingly volatile marriage as the future of the Saxon kingdoms is thrown into question and her own safety is compromised time and again. She finds an unlikely ally in Aldhelm, but it will take all of her strength and cunning to survive as Lady of Mercia.
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Aethelred Lord of Mercia, Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Aldhelm (The Last Kingdom), Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Original Female Character
Comments: 78
Kudos: 21





	1. Princess of Wessex

**Author's Note:**

> Aethelflaed is seventeen at the start, hence the underage tag. There will be non-con and dub-con described at various points, but if you've seen the show I'm sure you know where this is going to some extent. Not super important but I've aged Edward up slightly so that he and Aethelflaed are closer in age. The timeline is not consistent with the show, and the plot and politics are very loosely inspired by historical record (when it comes to the premise, very very loosely). This is mostly a story about Aethelflaed, her journey is the focus and we follow her perspective the entire time. It's a slow burn when it comes to the Aldflaed dynamic (which, of all three romantic/sexual relationships tagged is the last to be realized), but that relationship is the primary one. 
> 
> I may include additional tags as I complete the last few chapters but all major warnings that apply have been indicated already. Please do heed the tags. I will do my best to reiterate any major warnings that apply at the beginning of each chapter as well. In terms of the rating, this is a "soft" E but I am always more comfortable erring on the side of caution particularly in a new fandom. 
> 
> Shoutout to @adamwhatareyouevendoing's playlist for the title insp (From Eden, Hozier)
> 
> And big thanks to @easilydistractedbyfanfic for beta reading the first chapter and generally letting me yell at her about this fic.
> 
> Check end notes of most recent chapter for schedule updates.

The day had seemed unbearably long even before their lesson began. While Aethelflaed was trying her hardest to focus, her brother was doing his best to distract her.

Edward was balancing a pen on his nose, eyes crossed, and trying not to breathe so as not to drop it. If Aethelflaed laughed first, he had won.

Father Cuthbert’s back was to them, head bent over a roll of parchment he’d spread over the table, but the moment Aethelflaed could not contain her amusement any longer his eyes snapped back to his students.

“My lady, you must compose yourself!”

“My apologies, Father—truly.”

Father Cuthbert sighed, then turned to Edward.

“And you, dear prince, are not behaving as befits the son of the King.”

“It won’t happen again, Father.”

Father Cuthbert lifted his eyes to the heavens, praying for patience. He knew it was highly unlikely Edward would make good on that promise, as much as the boy might have meant well.

“Very well. We shall finish our lesson here, and you shall have to wait to know exactly what happened to the great heathen Ragnar Lodbrok.”

“I know that already, Father. Our great grandfather King Aelle threw him in a pit of venomous snakes.” Edward shot a glance at his sister. “We can only hope our freshly acquired Danish allies do not suffer a similar fate.”

“We must not joke about such things, Prince.”

Aethelflaed watched Father Cuthbert’s frown deepen. She knew he, like many in Wessex, did not approve of the alliance which was to follow on the heels of Erik Thurgilson’s conversion, but she herself was deeply curious about it.

“Come now, Father. Is it not a fine day when one of the great heathens, as you say, converts to the Christian faith?”

“Of course, Lady. Now, as we have finished our lesson, you and your brother are to go and find Steapa.”

Edward was on his way to the courtyard before their tutor had finished speaking, having been seated in one place far too long for a boy his age.

“Thank you, Father!” Aethelflaed called as she ran after her brother. “The heathens would be lucky to learn from such a scholar!”

Father Cuthbert almost smiled.

Steapa, captain of King Alfred’s guard, was waiting for them with their blades and shields. The three of them had been meeting twice weekly at least, and Aethelflaed prided herself on having become rather accomplished with a sword over the past few years. It was a pastime her parents had encouraged since there was always a chance the skill would be useful to her. Steapa had high expectations for both of them, always urging Aethelflaed to use her agility to her advantage and Edward to keep an eye on his surroundings.

Sparring with Edward held an extra incentive that day since it was possibly the last time Aethelflaed would have a chance to do so. As her mother hinted regularly, she was sure to be betrothed any day now and busy with other obligations. Aethelflaed was fairly certain that very week she would learn of her betrothal to one of the lords of Mercia—at least, that had been the gossip at court lately. She knew which lord she would prefer, not that she would have a choice of course. But she could dream.

She could also hold her own with a sword. She beat Edward in the first round, he won the second round, and she managed in a very neat twist to disarm him in the final round. Even the usually impassive Steapa seemed pleased.

“Not fair,” Edward huffed, his face slightly redder than usual. “You have the advantage of being lighter and quicker.”

Aethelflaed put an arm around him, panting slightly herself.

“You know very well, dear brother, that my sword will always be on the side of England, that is to say—on your side.”

Edward pretended to shrug her off, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Aethelflaed pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“We must run, Father will no doubt be waiting for us.”

* * *

“You cannot be serious,” Edward said, glancing from his father to his sister in disbelief. “You simply cannot.”

Aethelflaed was just as shocked, though she hid it better.

“You intend for me to marry Erik Thurgilson, Father? But I had thought it was decided that the Danes would settle outside Wessex—that no other arrangements were necessary.”

Aelswith sighed and turned away, very clearly unhappy with this turn of events. It had taken years for her to tolerate even the sight of Uhtred without a sneer, in large part because he’d helped to save Edward’s life as a baby. Aethelflaed could not understand how her mother had allowed her to be promised to a Dane, but of course, it was not her decision in the end.

“What of Mercia, Father? I know I was not formally betrothed, but won’t this threaten relations with Mercia?”

“Mercia is Saxon first, daughter. As is Wessex. I have sent word to Lord Aethelred this morning that I will help him secure a suitable marriage with one of the daughters of our ealdermen here, should he desire it.”

Aethelred. Of course it had been the handsome lord that she had hoped to be married to.

“You cannot truly intend to send my sister to live among the heathens, father,” Edward continued hotly, plainly on his mother’s side.

Alfred crossed to his chair, tenting his fingers patiently as he sat.

“I did not think your memory would be so short, Edward. We all attended the baptism of thirty Danes last week, Erik among them, did we not?”

Edward crossed his arms but said nothing.

Alfred seemed to be holding back a smile as he turned to his daughter.

“Your brother seems far more invested in this news than you, my dear.”

“Forgive me, Father, I am merely surprised.”

“Your mother,” Alfred shot a glance at his wife, his tone precise but not unkind, “was convinced you would object so strongly that you would refuse to cooperate.”

“No Father, I do not object. I may not understand my duty fully as of yet, but I do not object.”

Alfred nodded. “We will talk at length another day. There are many preparations to be made. But I am hopeful this betrothal will make clear to the Danes what the benefits of peace may look like.”

Aelswith pursed her lips, Edward glowered.

Aethelflaed’s surprise surpassed any trepidation she felt. She had thought to be the Lady of a great Saxon kingdom someday. But to be the keystone of a Danish alliance?

She was hard-pressed to imagine it.

* * *

There were indeed many preparations to be made. It had been arranged that the wedding, which would further signify Erik’s respect for the church, would take place in two month’s time. Aelswith immediately threw herself into allocating goods for Aethelflaed’s new household, hoping to distract herself from her impending status as mother-in-law to a Dane.

A week after Aethelflaed had learned of the upcoming alliance, she was summoned to join her mother, who was in her chambers surrounded by several servants and what seemed to Aethelflaed an entirely unnecessary amount of clothing.

“Aethelflaed, dear, my goodness.”

The Queen ran a hand over her daughter’s hair, smoothing the strands that fell loose upon her shoulders.

“You must learn to maintain your composure once you are married. You cannot be traipsing about looking so disheveled.”

She took a step back, gently cupping her daughter’s face.

“At least we will have you looking like a proper lady of Wessex for the wedding.”

“I know, Mother. I have been warned that I will spend the entire day being primped and prodded from my head to my toes, but despite that threat, I promise I won’t compromise my appearance.”

“That is your father speaking as much as you,” Aelswith said dryly. “Now get out of these old clothes, I want to see you in your wedding gown.”

Aethelflaed loosened her tunic and shrugged it over her shoulders so one of the servants could help her into the new garment.

“You know Father is only joking, as am I.”

“Your father has no business making jokes when he’s agreed to marry you to a Dane. He didn’t even want you to be married yet, and then, suddenly—”

Aethelflaed allowed herself to smile slightly, her face hidden behind the layers of fabric currently draped over her head.

“You will come to like Erik in time, mother, I am sure.”

She poked her head through the neckline.

“I know it is not exactly the marriage you had hoped for me—“

“No, it is not,” Aelswith agreed decidedly, gesturing for one of her ladies to straighten the shoulders of the gown. “Your cousin Aethelred—“

“My cousin Aethelred cannot provide us with a Danish alliance and a path to peace for all England.”

“Perhaps not, but at least he is not a pagan.”

“Come now, mother. Erik must be a good man for Father to betroth me to him.”

“He does not deserve you.”

“No man could,” Aethelflaed teased. “But if any man does, he is one who is willing to uproot his own traditions in service of a faith he admires. I think we may come to love each other as much as any Saxon couple.”

“Love,” Aelswith scoffed, “is a fickle emotion. I hope you will be safe, if not happy, in your new home with your new husband.”

“I am sure to be both, Mother.”

Aelswith did not answer, just sighed and smoothed the sleeves of Aethelflaed’s gown.

“The gown is beautiful.”

“I had it made when you turned sixteen,” said Aelswith proudly. “I believe it suits you quite well.”

Aethelflaed’s fingertips lingered on the silken fabric, her heart suddenly beating faster. Somehow her upcoming marriage had become more real in the last several moments. She wondered how she would feel when the day came, and every day after.

Everything was about to change.

“I do not mean worry you,” Aelswith continued. “You are a good girl, and strong. I know you will thrive wherever you are planted.”

Aethelflaed smiled.

Aelswith had busied herself with a seam, but Aethelflaed could sense the sadness beneath her mother’s prickly demeanor. She wrapped her in a hug.

“Do not worry about me. I am, after all, your daughter. ”

Aelswith sighed and pressed a kiss to Aethelflaed’s forehead.

“That you are, dear.”

* * *

It was, of course, just when Aethelflaed had begun to adjust to the idea of her new life that everything changed in quite a violent fashion.

They came in the middle of the night, waking her so suddenly that she first thought it was a nightmare. A sound outside her door startled her from her sleep, and then a dark hooded figure was standing before her.

Aethelflaed shot up in bed, the hair on her arms standing on end in fright.

By the time she'd realized what was happening and reached for her sword the hooded man was already at her bedside. She swung her fist at him instead but merely grazed his armor as he swept her up and forced a hand over her mouth.

Why hadn’t she called for help when she had the chance?

His gloves tasted of iron—was it blood?—as she bit and fought to get away. It was in vain, though that didn’t stop her from trying to scream. The guards who had been stationed in the corridor were lying on the ground—whether they were dead, she did not know.

Someone threw a dark woolen cloak over her as they rushed her outside the palace, and the last thing she remembered was the smell of rain-soaked earth before she felt a blow on the side of her head and slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

The first thing Aethelflaed sensed when she woke was movement. Her vision still coming into focus, she attempted to push the heavy cloak from her face but realized her wrists were bound by a rough cord. She sat up with some difficulty. It was still quite dark, so dark that she wasn't sure if it was night or day. Her head was throbbing. A knot seemed to have formed behind her left ear.

She was lying on a pile of furs and wool blankets which were spread nearly to the edges of a wooden carriage. There were doors on either side, each with a window covered by a thick curtain that all but blocked out the light. It took her a few tries to stand between the movement of the floor underneath her and her limited range of motion, but she finally pulled herself up onto the seat behind her where she could almost see out the window. It was tricky to keep her balance while reaching forward with both her arms but she finally lifted the curtain back.

It was not yet dawn, the sky a very pale grey—they must have traveled for several hours already. Aethelflaed’s skin prickled from the cold and she pulled her cloak as tight as she was able. Underneath she was clad only in the thin shift she’d worn to bed.

To the left of the carriage, she could see several soldiers on horseback. The men wore no recognizable insignia, but it was clear from their appearance that they were Saxons.

One of them glanced over and saw her peering out the window.

“She’s awake,” he called to the soldier next to him.

“Where are you taking me?”

Aethelflaed was careful to keep her voice low and steady, trying to conceal the fear that coursed through her. Still, her voice cracked. Her throat had never been so dry.

“Your new home, Lady,” one of the men answered.

“Quiet, we’re not supposed to speak with her,” replied the surlier looking of the two.

“I am Lady Aethelflaed of Wessex and I demand you release me.”

“We know who you are,” one of them chuckled.

“You know, but do not seem to care. Should you release me, I can promise you will go unharmed.”

They did not reply to that, just exchanged a knowing look. Clearly whatever reward they had been promised to kidnap her outweighed the risk.

Aethelflaed tried to jostle the door but it was firmly locked in place; there seemed to be a bar on the outside that she could not reach. She slid across the bench to try the other door, but that was locked as well. Moving the curtain just enough to see outside, careful not to attract attention, she spied three more soldiers. By the sound of it, there were more behind and ahead.  
If she had to guess, she would have said they were heading north. But why?

They continued on for several hours, during which time her stomach began to grumble, but she still could not divine where she was being taken. What lord would be so bold as to risk the wrath of King Alfred?

The party carried on at a brisk pace until midday when they stopped briefly to rest and water the horses. A man handed her a piece of bread through the window, and Aethelflaed ate ravenously, all the while trying to find anything useful inside the carriage now that they’d stopped moving—any clue as to who her abductors were, anything that could be used as a weapon.

She had no luck.

They were definitely heading north, possibly northwest. Were they taking her to Wales? She was sure the men were Saxon, but perhaps they’d been paid by one of the Welsh to kidnap her so they could hold her ransom.

She knew they would not be stopped for long, but try as she might she could beg attention from any of them. They all seemed determined to avoid eye contact, ignoring her as she called through the window. It would have been humiliating under normal circumstances but, given the situation, it merely felt surreal.

Finally, a short and stocky man shuffled toward her.

“Please, I’d like to stretch my legs.”

The man shook his head. “Sorry, my lady. We can’t have you trying to run away.”

Aethelflaed had anticipated that. She dropped her gaze to her hands, trying to look bashful.

“I’d like to relieve myself in the woods, please. It’s been hours…”

“No use bringing her to the lord all soiled,” one of the other men chimed in.

The first soldier shrugged at his companion. “You might be right, but it’s your problem, not mine, if she runs off.”

The second man led her into the woods.

She stopped when he did, a few yards from the edge of the road. They had gone far enough that the thickness of the trees hid them from view but not so far as to give her much of a head start.

“Do you mind?” Aethelflaed said pointedly, magnifying her offense.

The man’s face grew red with embarrassment and he turned around.

Aethelflaed carefully lowered herself into a squat, which was quite difficult while her wrists were still bound. She first took advantage of her privacy to piss, wincing a little at how loudly it splattered against the leaves beneath her.

When she’d finished, she rose slowly to her feet and began to edge away, trying to make as little noise as possible. Someone behind her yelled from the road.

She began to run.

Twigs cracked beneath her, a sharp bit of stone cut into the arch of her foot, but she kept going. Then she slipped on a patch of moss and went tumbling headfirst onto the ground.

A pair of soldiers had joined her guard. One helped him drag her to her feet and back through the woods to the wagon, while the other followed behind and berated him for his carelessness.

Aethelflaed’s heart sank as she saw just how little ground she’d covered. She would do better, the snap the door made as it locked only strengthened her resolve. Next time she would simply have to be faster.

Unfortunately, they appeared determined to take the rest of the trip without rest. Based on the muttering of the men riding beside her it seemed they would have stopped again had she not tried to escape.

Her stomach was rumbling again as the sunlight died, but no more bread was offered. Try as she might, she could not fray the cord that bound her hands. She’d nearly rubbed her wrists raw trying.

She did manage to pin back one of the curtains on a rough splinter of wood so she could at least see around her as they traveled. The wooden bench was uncomfortable to sit on for a long stretch, but she dare not lay down lest she would miss something important.

There was not much to see, very few farms and certainly no familiar landmarks. Darkness fell and she grew colder, though her hunger had subsided to a dull pang. Her shift was cold and wet and stained with mud. She dragged one of the furs onto her lap to help fight the chill. A prayer occupied her mind, and Aethelflaed found herself repeating the same invocation over and over.

_O Thou who art the everlasting essence of things beyond space and time and yet within them; Thou who transcends yet pervades all things, manifest Thyself unto me, feeling after Thee, seeking Thee in the shades of ignorance. Stretch forth Thy hand to help me, who cannot without Thee come to Thee; and reveal Thyself unto me, who seeks nothing beside Thee; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen._

It must have been nearly midnight, a full day after she’d been taken, that they arrived at their destination. She could see the light of many torches dotted across the night sky, illuminating the walls of a city below them.

Two heavy doors, reinforced with steel bars, creaked and scraped as they opened for the party. Once they were inside Aethelflaed’s heart sank as she realized she was surrounded by too many soldiers to count. Her odds at getting away now were infinitely smaller. The slightly queasy feeling in her stomach grew stronger.

When the wagon finally rolled to a stop Aethelflaed braced herself to make a last desperate attempt at escape while the gate was still open. One of the soldiers who had been traveling with her opened the door and took her wrists, cutting the bond with a small dagger. Feigning weakness, she slouched over. When he bent to help her up, she threw herself towards him to push him off balance, grabbing for his knife but missing.

She made it exactly three steps before hurtling headlong into something solid just as she collapsed. Her legs were numb, she could barely feel the chill of the damp ground.

It would have been a crushing failure if she hadn’t been delirious with exhaustion. She’d try again. She just needed to sleep…unless this was all a nightmare.

They were standing before a great palace in an unfamiliar city. Someone was holding her up by her elbows, lifting her carefully to her feet. Her limbs were shot through with pain. 

“You were not to allow her to be harmed!”

A man’s voice, disapproving and cold. He’d been the solid object she’d crashed into.

Then, gentler, “Careful, my lady.”

It took all the strength she had to ignore the pain that needled her legs and draw herself up. Several dozen soldiers surrounded her, all wearing the green cloak of the Mercian guard.

Mercia. She was in Mercia.

She pulled away from the man who had caught her—he let her—and gathered the fabric of her cloak around her to hide her near nakedness. His face was familiar, though missing its normal cunning expression—dark hair, an aquiline nose, a drawn mouth that revealed nothing it could help.

It was Lord Aldhelm, Aethelred’s right-hand man and closest advisor.

“You!” Aethelflaed cried. “How dare you bring me here in this way?”

Aldhelm flinched slightly.

“The Lord Aethelred will join you tomorrow morning, once you’ve had a chance to rest.”

He gestured to a pair of servants waiting behind him, a small pale man who looked to be about her father’s age and a pretty young woman with dark curling hair and warm brown skin.

“Please escort our guest to her chambers and assist her.”

A ragged laugh escaped Aethelflaed.

“If this is how Mercia treats its guests I should hate to see how they treat their enemies.”

Aldhelm’s face remained controlled towards her, though Aethelflaed was sure there was a flicker of anger directed towards the men who’d brought her there.

“You have my sincerest apologies for the manner in which you have arrived here, Lady. If you do not find your room acceptable in any way I can assure you it will be adjusted to suit you.”

Aethelflaed was too tired to argue further. She could feel a knot forming in her chest, the kind that preceded a violent cry.

Aldhelm met her eyes and bowed, low and formal, and she found herself following the servants. She could barely hold herself upright.

“Let me, Lady.”

The woman slipped an arm under her and Aethelflaed leaned into her shoulder as she was led away.

She could barely recall the way they’d taken through the palace. Outside of what was apparently her chambers several guards were stationed. The rooms were smaller than her chambers in Winchester but similarly furnished. A large wooden bed, covered in furs, and a steaming tub beside it.

The woman led Aethelflaed to the bed, then turned back to the doorway where the older man was hovering.

“Would you prefer to eat first, Lady, or bathe?”

“Both, if I can.”

The servant nodded to her companion, who slipped away.

“He will bring food for you, but for now the bath is ready.”

The warm water felt so good on her sore and bruised limbs Aethelflaed could have wept for that reason alone. The tears came, but subsided quickly. Shock prevented her grief from truly settling in. When a few minutes later she had a plate of hot food she was feeling much more like herself despite the circumstances.

“You’re in Aylesbury, Lady,” the woman said, supplying an answer to the question Aethelflaed hadn't asked yet. She had said nothing while Aethelflaed had cried, merely combed the knots from her hair as gently as possible.

Aethelflaed nodded gratefully, leaning back in the tub so that her hair was almost completely submerged. She took a more careful look at her companion now that she was calmer. Thick curling hair framed a lovely face with full lips and deep brown eyes. Something about her seemed instantly trustworthy. She certainly had a kinder look than Aldhelm.

“May I ask your name?”

“Brynn, my lady.”

Aethelflaed drew a deep and shaking breath. She knew she would not like the answer to the next question she had to ask.

“Brynn, I presume you know why the Lord Aethelred has brought me here?”

Brynn hesitated, clutching the pitcher she’d been using to rinse Aethelflaed’s hair and avoiding her gaze. It was clear she was choosing her words carefully.

“I believe I do.”

She paused again, worrying her lower lip.

“I assume he must want to retaliate for my engagement to Erik Thurgilson,” Aethelflaed prompted. “He has taken offense at our informal betrothal being broken.”

“Yes, Lady.”

“He is planning to force a marriage?”

“I cannot say, Lady…it’s all rather sudden. At least, it seemed sudden to most of the household. It was rumored that Alfred’s daughter was to be betrothed to a Mercian, it was assumed Lord Aethelred. Then news reached us several days ago that you were betrothed to the Dane Erik. That seemed to set Lord Aethelred into a terrible rage. But I never would have expected for him to bring you here this way—even the Lord Aldhelm was not aware of his plan.”

“I do not believe that for a moment,” Aethelflaed said dryly. “Every time I have seen them together they have been of one mind.”

“I would not have believed the plan had been kept from him either, Lady,” Brynn shrugged, “but I overheard them arguing last night when Lord Aldhelm discovered why Lord Aethelred had sent a party to Winchester. He had no idea why spies had been planted in Wessex until the plan was already in motion.”

Aethelflaed pursed her lips, unsure what to make of that information.

“Lady Aethelflaed,” Brynn continued, her voice low and earnest, “I want to prepare you for the possibility that Lord Aethelred is not as honorable a man as you might have thought.”

Aethelflaed exhaled, half laughing half sighing. “He had me kidnapped, of course I understand he is not exactly a paragon of virtue.”

Brynn forced a smile, but it did not reach her eyes.

“I am sure,” Aethelflaed continued, “my father will offer a handsome reward as well as a suitable marriage in return for my release. He will send for me.”

“There was a message from the king earlier this week, Lady,” Brynn replied. “If I had to guess, the Lord Aethelred has already rejected a proposal for an alternate marriage.”

“You seem to know quite a lot for a servant,” Aethelflaed said bluntly as Brynn helped her out of the bath.

“Servants talk,” Brynn shrugged, wrapping a sheet of linen around her. “Information is often the only currency we have access to.”

A wave of calm--or was it merely exhastion?--overcame her. At the very least Aethelflaed now knew where she was and why.

“My father will send for me,” Aethelflaed repeated as if to assure herself more than anything else.

“He will, I am sure, Lady.”

Alfred would surely send for her. He could not let this insult stand, he would protect her. Perhaps he would send a negotiator, perhaps an army.

But Aethelflaed was sure her captor was prepared for any possible response. He would not have risked his position and power to bring her here without considering the possibility that her father would retaliate. And he did not seem likely to accept a compromise given the choices he had already made. He intended to force her down the path he had chosen at whatever cost.

There was a distinct possibility she would not leave Aylesbury.

Her father had taught her the creed of their faith, shown her how to be steadfast and courageous. Her mother had taught her to make shrewd political choices, to always speak her mind but to do her duty in the end. Steapa had ensured that she knew how to defend herself in armed combat.

But no one could have prepared Aethelflaed for this.


	2. Lord of Mercia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aethelred makes his appeal.

There were a few glorious seconds when Aethelflaed woke the next morning before she remembered where she was and why. Her head was foggy with half-memories that faded with her dream as her eyes slowly fluttered open. Then it all came rushing back. The arduous journey, the cold and the damp, Aldhelm’s face, and Brynn’s. Her wrists were bruised and the wound in her foot felt stiff and painful.

“You’re awake, Lady.”

Brynn was hovering in the doorway to the next room.

“Good morning.” Aethelflaed pushed herself up onto an elbow. “I expect I will see Lord Aethelred this morning?”

“Yes, Lady. I’m to make you ready and then you will be escorted to his chambers.”

“Good. I expect we shall have quite a lot to say to each other.”

“You’re in much better spirits than I would have expected, my lady.”

“I am eager to make my case to Lord Aethelred.”

“I hope the conversation is a productive one.”

“Has there been any word from Wessex?”

“Not that I am aware of, Lady.”

“I suppose they might not know where I am yet.”

“They will soon, Lady. This is not the sort of thing that can remain secret for long.”

“You’re right. If there are spies in my father’s court there are certainly spies here.” She watched Brynn as she retrieved a gown from the chest beside the bed. “You wouldn’t happen to know who, would you? You seem to be brimming with useful information.”

The servant smiled, lopsided dimples appearing on either side of her mouth. “Sorry to disappoint, my lady.”

Brynn helped her into the gown. It was a beautiful garment, hemmed with gold trim and laced along hidden panels at the side in quite an elegant fashion. The shade of blue wasn’t unlike the color gown she was to be married in but it was unmistakably more expensive.

“This feels quite formal,” Aethelflaed said, gathering a handful of the fabric.

“A gift from Lord Aethelred, I’m told.”

The intimacy and extravagance of the gesture made Aethelflaed blush. The cloth alone must have cost more than any dress she'd worn before. 

“It looks quite lovely on you, Lady Aethelflaed.”

“I suppose that won’t make my task more difficult.”

Brynn huffed a small laugh as she finished braiding Aethelflaed’s hair into a simple plait.

“I expect not, Lady.”

Aethelflaed was escorted across the palace by a guard who broke away from the group outside her chamber. The room he led her to appeared to be a study of sorts. It was empty when she entered. She resisted the urge to pry and see what secrets she might be able to uncover. Instead, she sat and waited, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to maintain her composure.

She had determined to conceal her fear and disdain from Aethelred when she saw him. She didn’t know much about him, having only met him a few times since she’d been a child. Based on the little she did know, including this most recent development, she was sure that he would not respond well to a combative attitude. She was resolved to try a more diplomatic tack, strong but controlled.

It was unlikely he would be swayed, not after all the trouble he went to to get her there. But she had to try.

When he entered the room Aethelflaed realized she hadn’t prepared for the way she would be physically affected when she saw him. Her stomach turned and she exhaled a sharp breath as she stood to greet him. She'd never been more apprehensive in her life.

“My lady.”

Aethelred bowed.

He was dressed in a burgundy tunic, fingers studded with rings, hair curling perfectly around his ears. His blue eyes were more piercing than she’d remembered, and his full lips were framed by a well-groomed beard. Aethelflaed had always been glad to think of him as a handsome man when their future together had been presumed. The thoughts she had now upon seeing him were far less kind.

“Lord Aethelred.”

She did not bow in return, merely clenched her fists at her side.

He stepped towards her with some enthusiasm, then stopped a respectful distance away.

Brynn’s warning from the previous night flashed into Aethelflaed’s mind. She pushed the memory aside and focused on the present, a chance to win over her captor.

“The dress suits you, Lady.”

“You're too kind, Lord,” she replied with as much grace as she could muster.

“I do hope your room is comfortable. I have heard from Lord Aldhelm that the men who accompanied you here were less than respectful, and for that I must humbly apologize.”

 _Accompanied_. The gall to phrase it that way.

“I can assure you, Lady, they have been reprimanded.”

His tone was sincere, verging on ashamed. That took her off guard. It was a moment before she could compose herself enough to respond, during which time he seemed to have no other concerns but the words which were soon to fall from her lips.

She was careful to keep her voice steadier than she felt.

“My Lord Aethelred, I am certain that you and I can come to some kind of agreement here.”

A flicker of curiosity crossed his face and he clasped his hands before him as he listened.

“I know that you would be paid handsomely for my safe return, there need be no hard feelings. Wessex has the best interests of Mercia at heart. My father will be certain to provide a suitable alliance, one worthy of you.”

“I am sorry, my lady, but that cannot be.”

Aethelflaed’s heart sank.

“There only alliance that is worthy of Mercia, Lady Aethelflaed, is with you. Indeed, I was promised your hand by King Alfred when I became ruler of Mercia. I would frankly have married sooner otherwise. I have proved my loyalty to him ten times over, and a broken promise is the thanks I’ve received.”

“My lord, if you would allow me to meet with my father I am sure we could arrange—”

He shook his head, apparently distressed that she could think an alternative arrangement even possible.

“Mercia does not need riches, my lady. We need security and respect—as does Wessex. Our kingdoms stand at great risk from the very foes your father has bargained your hand to ally with. We are stronger together against this threat. The Danes have infringed upon our eastern lands for too long. We know the peace will be broken, treaty or not—peace is not in their nature. It is insulting to me and all Mercians that our rightful alliance has been supplanted for one with the Danes. And you, Lady, deserve better than to wed a pagan.”

He spoke so earnestly Aethelflaed was almost convinced that he was right. His appeal echoed her own shock when she’d first learned of the betrothal.

“Erik was baptized, my lord,” she replied, voice faltering slightly. “He’s converted to our faith along with many of his men. I truly believe that this alliance would benefit Mercia as much as the other kingdoms—“

Aethelred laughed, surprised but not unkind.

“That is absurd, my lady. You refuse to see reason, so committed to a promise you’ve made to a heathen—or rather, a promise that has been made on your behalf.”

He paused, turning away from her and pressing folded hands to his lips.

Aethelflaed was trying her best to read him, but he wasn’t at all what she’d expected. If anything, he seemed as frustrated with the larger situation as she was. Despite her misgivings, she did understand why.

“Perhaps, Lady Aethelflaed, if you have time to consider my offer you will see you have no true alternative.”

“I would not count on it, my lord.”

The title sounded like an insult when she said it, despite her best efforts. Aethelred seemed slightly taken aback.

“I cannot abandon my duty," continued Aethelflaed, attempting to moderate her tone. "And my father will send for me. I expect an envoy from Wessex to arrive within a week’s time.”

“I will receive them when they arrive, of course.”

“You will not refuse an audience?”

“My business is with you, Lady.”

The way Aethelred looked at her now made her heart beat faster, and not from fear this time.

“The choice of whom you marry should be your own. I will not take that from you—instead, I grant it to you.”

The audacity of such a statement. Her temper flared again. She suppressed it.

“I have chosen already, Lord. I have promised to marry Erik Thurgilson. That is my duty to Wessex, and I count it a blessing to have such a duty to fulfill.”

“I admire your commitment to Wessex—truly. It is a quality of yours that I find most attractive.”

She could not bite her tongue any longer.

“You find me attractive, you wish to liberate me from the control of my father, but only insofar as you yourself can control me and benefit. Why do you presume to know my mind better than I myself do?”

The blood rushed to her face as she watched him react. He appeared surprised by her boldness.

“I can understand why you do not feel well disposed towards me, Lady. But I beg you, on behalf of your mother’s people, to give me and Mercia a chance to prove ourselves to you.”

“How am I to do that?”

“Maintain as open a mind as you can until the envoy from Wessex arrives. That is all that I can ask.”

“I can make no promise to you, Lord.”

“I understand.” He hesitated, head cocked to one side slightly as he looked at her. “Have dinner with me this evening.”

“If you wish.”

She needed to eat, and she might as well do it gathering useful information.

His handsome face broke into a bright smile. She would have found it quite charming in other circumstances.

“That pleases me greatly. My sincerest thanks for agreeing to see me today. I will leave you to your leisure until this evening.”

He bowed and turned away but Aethelflaed stepped towards him, cutting off his access to the door.

He stopped abruptly. His response, so deferential and immediate, thrilled her.

“My lord, you have had me dragged from my bed, brought me here against my will, and have kept me under lock and key since I have arrived. It is not treatment fitting a woman you intend to make your wife.”

He smiled again, worrying his lower lip slightly. She felt the heat rising in her face.

“You are right, my lady. I do not mean to insult you—that is the last thing I want. What would make your stay in Aylesbury more comfortable?”

“I should like to be free to roam the palace at the very least, if not the city.”

“Of course, of course. Please enjoy yourself as you see fit.”

That was agreeable, but she remained wary.

“If you’d like,” he continued, “I will request someone accompany you about the grounds today.”

At the very least she’d get some fresh air and a chance to take in her surroundings.

“Thank you, Lord.”

“Until this evening.”

He bowed, bestowing one last smile, and was gone. It took her some time to stop shaking after he'd left.

It was Aldhelm, of course, who joined her moments later. He looked as thrilled with his assignment as she was, which was to say not at all.

“Good morning, Lady. Lord Aethelred has requested that I provide you with an escort today.”

“It’s the least you can do,” Aethelflaed replied sharply, “if I’m to be kept here as a captive.”

Aldhelm raised an eyebrow but said nothing, simply gestured to the door.

Aethelred’s palace was beautiful—not so large as her father's palace at Winchester but older and more to Aethelflaed’s taste. As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t help but picture herself living there as Lady of Mercia.

Once they were outside Aldhelm began to bore her by talking about the architecture but she cut him off summarily.

“I know your true purpose here, Lord, is to ensure I do not make another attempt to escape. No need to trouble yourself with niceties.”

Aldhelm paused before replying, and when he spoke there was the merest hint of exasperation in his voice.

“My intent, Lady, is to ensure that you are as well looked after as possible under the circumstances.”

Aethelflaed couldn’t tell to what extent he was being honest with her. She intended to press him until he revealed something useful.

“I’ve been told that you were not informed in advance of Lord Aethelred’s plan to bring me here.”

“I was not, that is correct, Lady.”

Despite his clear surprise at her statement he appeared to answer truthfully.

“And if you had, you would have agreed it was a good plan?”

“Certainly not.”

Aethelflaed was intrigued. Why would he lie about such a thing? Perhaps to gain her trust. Or perhaps Brynn had been right and she would find an ally among Aethelred’s closest advisors.

“You object to the goal or merely the violence of the execution?”

His brow furrowed. “Both, my lady.”

They were at the other end of the courtyard now, allowing Aethelflaed to size up the guards. She was not as subtle as she had hoped.

“If I may speak freely, Lady—you will not escape should you choose to run, now or ever.”

Aethelflaed turned her gaze back to Aldhelm and was surprised to see sympathy in his expression.

“Perhaps not, but I must at least try.”

Aldhelm sighed and gestured to a bench beneath a flowering dogwood tree nearby.

“Sit here. We will be out of earshot of the guards.”

“You cannot expect me to just accept this as my fate,” she replied, following his lead.

“Not to accept it, Lady. Perhaps to embrace it.”

“Embrace it? You must be joking.”

He was not joking. She was fairly sure he did not know how.

“Your betrothal to the Dane Erik, was it a love match?”

“No, of course not. It was an alliance.”

“And do you know him well?”

“No, not at all.”

“And you grew up expecting to be married to Lord Aethelred, is that correct?”

“Yes, but we were not officially betrothed. It’s not up to him to decide whom I marry and why.”

“It is up to your father and his witan, though,” Aldhelm said dryly.

“That is not an uncommon thing for a woman of my position," she said, her desperation growing. "Why does no one in Mercia understand how useful this alliance might be? You have always been vulnerable to Danish attacks, and all Saxons would benefit from peace with the sons of Thurgil.”

“Perhaps peace for a time, my lady, but do you really think Wessex is better off without Mercia’s help?”

“So,” Aethelflaed scoffed, “Lord Aethelred will refuse to remain allied to Wessex without my hand in marriage?”

Aldhelm glanced around them to ensure no one would overhear, clearly choosing his next words carefully.

“I do not mean to imply that, Lady. But I believe his affection for King Alfred has been compromised slightly of late.”

“You do not make him sound a very honorable man, Lord.”

“I am sorry you think so, Lady. My intent is not to demean him in your eyes. But the situation is a delicate one. Were it up to me, the alliance would not depend on your marriage to Mercia but rather on the equal exchange of protections. But if we are to speak of honor, do you think that your Dane intends to go through with the marriage, even now?”

Aethelflaed didn’t reply. It was a thought that had crossed her mind as well, and she did not like the probable answer.

“Lady, you must understand that—“

Aethelflaed’s temper flared again, and after two such frustrating conversations she could no longer suppress it. “I must understand nothing. Do you truly think I am to be convinced that any good intentions lie behind tearing me from my home and forcing me into a marriage I do not want at the cost of a great alliance and my own freedom?”

“I have stated I agree, Lady Aethelflaed.”

“But you will not help me escape?”

“Lady, I cannot. I believe, despite the way in which you were brought here, you are the right choice for Mercia. Lord Aethelred is strong, but we would be stronger with you beside him. I believe were you to marry, he would become a greater leader. If you will allow yourself to become better acquainted with him—.”

“I am not a means to an end. I am the princess of Wessex with a duty to my people, and with my own will and desires besides. I will not be forced into this arrangement for the good of a kingdom not my own, and of a man who does not deserve me. If you had any self respect, you would help me convince Aethelred there’s another way to grow his power.”

“I have tried,” Aldhelm replied wearily. “I promise you, I have tried.”

“I had thought you were more clever than that, Lord Aldhelm.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. To her chagrin, he did not appear to be insulted.

“I had thought so too, Lady.”

“You are quite irritating, you know.”

He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “I did not expect to be playing host to a princess today, forgive me.”

The annoyance in his voice was enough to satisfy her.

* * *

Dinner that night in Aethelred’s chambers could have been less uncomfortable only if Aldhelm had been absent, as much as it vexed Aethelflaed to admit. She was not used to dining with strangers alone. As it was, Aethelflaed was at one end of the table, Aethelred at the other, and Aldhem was seated at one side squarely in the middle.

“Lord Aethelred will be easier to manage if you go along with the niceties,” Brynn had advised. “Make him feel handsome and clever. He is an intelligent man but vanity may be his weakness.”

Aethelred was playing the gracious host quite well, and Aethelflaed tried to heed Brynn’s advice and smile and laugh along with him. It was by no means the first time she’d prioritized manners over her own comfort.

In other circumstances, Aethelflaed would have found herself fascinated by the colorful banners and intricate tapestries that graced the walls. The craftsmanship was quite stunning, and rather unlike anything she'd seen in Wessex before. As it was, she forced herself to focus all her attention on her host. Aethelred spoke at length about his interests, becoming quite animated any time he spoke of riding or hunting. It was not exactly a dull conversation, but any commonality they shared was thrown into stark contrast by the fact that he apparently thought all was well.

Aldhelm made the occasional reply when Aethelred spoke to him directly, but for the most part he kept his eyes fixed on the plate before him.

The meal was drawing to a close when Aethelflaed got up the nerve to speak the question that was on all their minds.

“I assume your spies will bring word of my father’s plans within the next day or two, Lord.”

Aethelred shot Aldhelm a glance, and Aldhelm tipped his head as if to say “your move, my lord.”

“I assume that they will, Lady.”

“You will not consider a ransom? ”

Aethelred had clearly been hoping that this topic would not come up during the course of the evening. His displeasure was mild but evident in his tone.

“I will not, Lady. I do not need silver, as I stated before. I intend to hold your father to his original promise. I hope that by the time he or his representative arrives in Mercia you and I will agree the best course is for us to marry.”

Aethelflaed raised an eyebrow skeptically. Aldhelm continued to stare straight ahead, apparently wishing neither of them would acknowledge he was still present.

“I can, in fact, be quite charming if you will let me,” Aethelred said, the smile that crossed his face repelling and attracting her to him in equal measure. “Tomorrow I must meet with the Ealdormen, but let us spend the day after together. Aldhelm can take over my duties.”

“It would be my pleasure, Lord.”

Aldhelm spoke to Aethelred, but his eyes were fixed on her.

Aethelflaed considered her options, watching to see Aethelred’s reaction as she prolonged the pause. He did not appear put out. He stroked a finger along his jawline, gazing at her softly. 

There was no reason not to let him entertain her, she supposed. They were just biding time until negotiations could begin. She refused to believe that he would be immovable in the end. There was no world in which Mercia could go against Wessex and succeed.

“I will accept, Lord,” she replied finally, “but know that it will be quite hard to change my mind. I plan to leave after my father’s envoy arrives whether or not we can decide on an arrangement. If you will not let me, I will find a way.”

Aethelred studied her face, clearly impressed by her answer.

“Very well, Lady. If you indulge me for a fortnight and still do not agree we ought to marry, then we have no further business between us. You will be free to go.”

Relief coursed through her. She realized she had been gritting her teeth and she relaxed.

“I am glad we are in agreement.”

She stood, and the men mirrored her. Aethelred bowed graciously.

“Thank you for joining us this evening. It has been a pleasure. Would you care for an escort, or do you prefer to walk alone?”

“I prefer to walk alone, thank you.”

Aldhelm bowed as she walked past, and she could have sworn there was a smile on his lips as he ducked down.

After taking in a bit of night air in the courtyard, Aethelflaed returned to her room where Brynn was waiting. It pleased Aethelflaed to see a friendly face again, as did the absence of additional guards outside her room.

“You seem in good spirits, Lady.”

“I believe I am. Lord Aethelred has agreed to let me go in two week's time.”

Brynn was visibly surprised. “That’s wonderful news, my lady.”

“I know you are suspicious of him. You do not think I should take him at his word?”

Brynn furrowed her brow. “I do not know him well, my lady. And he does seem to be truly taken with you.”

“I do not know if I can trust him either. But I hope that I can.”

“There were no conditions?”

“Just the contingency that I would stay if he’d won my affections,” Aethelflaed laughed.

Brynn smiled weakly and began to unlace the gown. Aethelflaed let the conversation drop there, though there was something uneasy between them now.


	3. A Way Out, A Way In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help arrives, but Aethelflaed realizes her decision won't be as simple as she first thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit long, but it didn't really make sense to split it into two.

“You’re not Mercian, are you?”

Brynn paused in cleaning up scraps from breakfast, looking over at Aethelflaed with a slight smile.

“I’ve noticed you always speak of yourself as if slightly removed from this place,” Aethelflaed explained. “And your accent—“

“I am from Wales, Lady,” Brynn replied as she resumed her task. “I was brought to Aylesbury when I was a young woman. The Mercians were repelled when they attacked Gwynedd, but they took many captives despite their defeat. My mother and I were among the women and children brought back by Lord Aethelred.”

Of course, Aethelflaed thought. That explained why Brynn had been so well equipped to understand her emotional state when she’d arrived. She bit her tongue, she knew it would not be fair to compare her situation to a servant’s.

Out loud she said, “I can see why you do not care for Lord Aethelred, nor for Mercia. I am sorry that you are not in your home, Brynn.”

“I will find my way back there someday, Lady.”

Brynn spoke matter of factly, almost cheerful, and Aethelflaed could not help but be impressed. She could only have been a few years younger than Brynn, but Brynn handled herself with the confidence of a much older woman. Aethelflaed wondered when she would carry herself with such surety. Must women always be subject to trauma in order to project such strength?

She took one of Brynn’s hands and squeezed it.

“I believe we have been thrown together for a reason, Brynn. I cannot tell you how much I have appreciated your kindness. I know you are not required to take such care as you do.”

Brynn tilted her head curiously, squeezing Aethelflaed’s hand in return. She seemed to be assessing Aethelflaed in a new light, which brought a blush to Aethelflaed’s cheeks.

“You will find your way home as well, Lady. Come, Lord Aethelred is waiting.”

* * *

It was the way Aethelred talked of Mercian history that began to truly soften Aethelflaed’s heart towards him. It reminded her of the stories her mother, also a Mercian, had told her as a child. Mercia had been the first great kingdom, unmatched in power under the Offa. Aelswith had often regaled her with tales of how Charlemagne himself treated King Offa as an equal. His wealth had been legendary, and even now the Mercian coffers were rumored to be bottomless.

She remembered the tales of Cynethryth as well. Offa’s wife had wielded power of her own, and the Lady of Mercia would follow in her legacy. The prospect was not unappealing. For all Aelswith’s influence, she was forbidden to sit at the table more than not. Were Aethelflaed to marry the Lord of Mercia, her role as a wife and consort would be more robust.

Aethelred himself had risen to power at quite a young age. Though Aethelred’s parents were not royal, he could trace his lineage back to Offa. Even as a young man he’d been well respected in Wessex, having submitted to King Alfred at just the right moment when the power of Mercia was in danger of waning and the future of the Saxon kingdoms was in question. Aelswith had always praised him as a shrewd politician, and Alfred had never disagreed.

It was clear he had the mind of a strategist, which was equally a boon and a disadvantage as far as Aethelflaed was concerned. It was difficult not to admire his passion and his intelligence, but it made her doubt any feelings she had towards him. She was certainly more kindly disposed to him than she had been on that first night, but couldn't shake the feeling that each move he made towards her was calculated to win her heart as part of his plan rather than out of any true affection.

He did, however, have other characteristics that were equally compelling. For one thing, he was incredibly handsome. Even when she was a child Aethelflaed had thought him quite good-looking. Now, approaching a decade of experience as Lord of Mercia, he radiated authority and ambition. Both were qualities that Aethelflaed has sought to cultivate in herself. She could see why her mother had been so insistent that he was the right husband for her. They were a perfect match in nearly every way.

After a morning spent in conversation, Aethelflaed gratefully accepted her host’s offer to escape the confines of the city, however briefly. They took two of his finest horses (Aethelflaed had never seen such stables in Wessex) and made for a ridge where they could overlook Aylesbury. A pair of armed guards accompanied them at a respectable distance.

It was a beautiful day, warm with clear skies. They had a perfect view of the city and the hills that surrounded it. The Mercian countryside was bathed in golden light, and again Aethelflaed could not help but picture herself living there.

She was just catching her breath as they dismounted, wondering if her host knew just how inclined towards him she’d found herself.

“That way is the estate that will be given to the Lady of Mercia.” Aethelred stood beside her, gesturing west of the city. “It’s half a day’s ride, and a lovely little villa. I expect you would like it. It’s a quiet place. Perhaps it is not as much as the daughter of King Alfred deserves, but you could furnish it to your taste. I don’t care much for it myself, but I know that life at court can be overwhelming.”

“The duties of your wife would lie here as well, would they not?” asked Aethelflaed shyly.

Aethelred smiled down at her.

“They would, if my wife were willing.”

A sudden realization crossed his face, and he reached into the purse at his waist.

“A gift.” He pressed a gold brooch into her hand. “Not as beautiful as you deserve, but a gift nonetheless.”

Aethelflaed stared at it for a moment, watching the light catch and sparkle on dark red jewels set in the midst of an intricate filigree.

“I cannot accept, my lord—“

“Nonsense. You must.” His gaze dropped to his hands. “Aldhelm has been lecturing me quite severely. He’s made me realize how unfair my attitude towards you has been. I should not have brought you here, Lady. But I felt I did not have a choice. Your betrothal was announced so suddenly, as if your father knew the trouble he’d caused. I only wanted time to plead my case. I hope that is clear to you, now.”

Aethelflaed turned the brooch over in her hand, feeling the weight of it. When she looked up, she found Aethelred observing her with a tenderness she was not used to seeing from a man of his stature.

He seemed genuine. He seemed contrite. Almost bashful. Younger, not so sure of himself. Not like a lord or a king, but just a man. She did understand the position he’d been in, how her betrothal to Erik had been salt in the wound. But of course the entire morning may have just been part of his scheme to woo her.

“I wonder if I can trust you, Lord.”

There was no reason to refrain from speaking her mind freely, not now. They had made their agreement, so she could let the veneer of political courtesy drop for a moment.

Aethelred ducked his head. “I understand. I hope I can win back your respect, my lady, if not your affection.”

His eyes met hers, and Aethelflaed noticed again just how blue they were.

A wind stirred up from the west, moving the hair that hung loose upon her shoulders. Aethelred reached to brush it back from her face as if by instinct and stopped abruptly.

“Forgive me, Lady.”

Aethelflaed bit her lip. A warmth was rising in her belly, and she felt a blush spreading across her cheeks. As much as she tried to deny it, she had rather hoped she would touch her.

It was as exhilarating as it was unsettling.

“No need to beg forgiveness, Lord.”

“I must repeat how sorry I am to have behaved the way I did. I was so convinced it was God’s will for us to rule Mercia together that I ignored my better judgment.”

Aethelflaed’s blush deepened further. “I must admit, Lord, I had hoped that we would marry as well. I cannot deny that I feel fondly towards Mercia.”

He seemed truly surprised at first, but the slow grin that spread over his face set the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “And might I inquire if your fondness extends towards me?”

Aethelflaed smiled, pressing the brooch into her palm so hard it would leave marks.

“Do I have hope, my lady?”

“You have hope, my lord.”

* * *

Dinner that evening was rather more enjoyable than the previous night. Aldhelm was in attendance again, as a chaperone of her virtue it was clear. Aethelflaed didn’t mind somehow. She was becoming quite comfortable in Aethelred’s company. He escorted her to her room that evening, and the gentle manner in which he took his leave was enough to make her question the reservations she had left.

“I think that I like him,” she confessed to Brynn that evening.

Brynn raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“You believe I am being foolish?”

Brynn frowned and turned away to smooth the bed linens.

“I am truly interested in your opinion, Brynn.”

“I believe your marriage would be good for Mercia, Lady,” Brynn replied evenly.

“Such a politician,” Aethelflaed joked. “You do not think I am prudent to trust him?”

“You know him better than I do, Lady,” Brynn shrugged. “I have only observed from afar. You may know his heart.”

“You know his reputation, Brynn. You have warned me he may not be kind, in truth.”

Brynn finally met her gaze, but still she hedged her answers.

“He may be no worse than any other lord.”

“What would you do, if you were in my position?”

“I can hardly imagine, Lady,” Brynn laughed

“Please, I cannot beg advice from anyone else on this matter. And I do feel…warm towards him.”

“He is a handsome man,” Brynn agreed.

“But I have my duty to Wessex, and to my father.”

“And if you no longer had an obligation to fulfill that duty?” Brynn asked.

Aethelflaed did not have an answer.

* * *

“I hear I am to thank you, Lord Aldhelm.”

“For what, Lady?”

“Lord Aethelred tells me you have shown him the error of his ways in bringing me here.”

“This way, Lady,” Aldhelm directed her around a puddle. “We did speak of his actions at length. I cannot pretend to have told him anything he did not already know.”

“Perhaps not. But I feel he understands my position better than he did before. So for any part you played in that, I thank you.”

“I am happy to have been of service.”

Aethelflaed glanced over at him curiously as they made their way through the city. Despite her initial misgivings about him and his lord, she found herself wanting to think the best of them. She had grown up so fond of the idea of living in Mercia that she found it easy enough to revert to that way of thinking.

But she was unsure if she could truly trust him. Perhaps Aldhelm was manipulating Aethelred as much as he manipulated her. He always spoke too eloquently to be trusted, and too highly of Aethelred to be believed.

She could at least trust him well enough to keep her company while Aethelred was busy. They had been exploring Aylesbury all morning, and people she encountered were kind and happy and seemed to show genuine respect for Aldhelm, though she could not tell if it was on behalf of Aethelred or not.

They had just begun to turn back to the palace when a child’s voice broke through the bustle of carts and animals.

“Lady Aethelflaed!”

A little girl with curling auburn hair had stepped forward from the crowd holding a small bunch of cornflowers.

“Are those for me?” Aethelflaed smiled, crouching slightly to accept the gift. “You are too kind.”

The girl bowed, blushing slightly, and ran back towards her father.

“That color suits you, Lady.”

Aldhelm was smiling down at her rather smugly, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Very sly of you, Lord Aldhelm. Did you grow those flowers yourself, or just arrange for the child to bring them to me?”

Aldhelm chuckled quietly, the first genuine laugh she’d heard from him.

“I am extremely flattered that you think my cunning involves such forethought, but I can promise you that I am not responsible. It appears to have been an honest gesture.”

Aethelflaed smiled at his response. She was not sure if she believed him, but he did seem quite amused at her accusation. This would be as good a time as any to inquire after Aethelred’s correspondence.

“May I ask if Lord Aethelred has received word from Wessex?”

“Not as yet, Lady.” He noted her disappointment, adding, “I am sure we will receive a messenger here at Aylesbury soon.”

Aethelflaed nodded half-heartedly.

“I can't understand what is taking so long,” she confessed. “I feel quite abandoned here.”

“It is a difficult position for your father to be in as well. I imagine he is dealing with the Danes in the meantime. An unstable alliance is no small matter.”

“And yet, your lord thinks his honor worth going to war over.”

“I believe he thinks _your_ honor worth going to war over, Lady,” he asserted gently.

“You speak as if you seek to court me yourself, Lord.”

This appeared to amuse him further.

“Not at all, Lady. Just to remind you that our interests here are not so out of alignment with your own.”

She had begun to reply when over Aldhelm’s shoulder the flash of a familiar face in the crowd made her catch her breath.

“Lady Aethelflaed, are you well?”

Aldhelm followed her gaze, brows raised in mild concern.

The man had only appeared for a moment, then vanished. It must have been a trick of her imagination.

“Yes, I’m fine. I…I’m just hungry.”

It wasn't entirely a lie, but Aldhelm did seem slightly suspicious as they returned to the palace for a midday meal. Try as she might, Aethelflaed could not remember to whom the mysterious face belonged for the remainder of the day.

* * *

That evening Brynn brought Aethelflaed the news she had been waiting to hear.

“Lady, we’ve received word from Wessex.”

Aethelflaed breathed a sigh of gratitude. Her prayers had been answered.

“The Lord Uhtred is near,” Brynn continued, “He was sent by King Alfred.”

“Uhtred. Of course.” Aethelflaed was so overcome with relief that she began to waver on her feet, taking a seat on the bed. “I am so glad. Have you seen him?”

“No, but Lord Aldhelm has spoken with one of his men.”

Aethelflaed’s mind flashed back to the familiar face she had seen earlier. This must be the explanation.

“Lord Uhtred asked for a note from you. He would not accept Lord Aldhelm’s word that you are well.”

“I will send a note. Do you know how Lord Aethelred has responded?”

“He is not aware, Lady.”

“I don’t understand. Lord Aldhelm does this without Aethelred’s knowledge?”

Brynn’s mouth twitched slightly as she replied. “I believe he is somewhat concerned with what Uhtred may do or say to King Alfred if he is not assured of your safety as quickly as possible.”

Aethelflaed bit her lip in amusement. “I see Uhtred’s reputation has proceeded him.”

“Yes, Lady,” Brynn laughed. “If you can write a letter, I will make sure it reaches him.”

Aethelflaed ran to her desk at once to pen a few lines, taking care not to name the recipient out of care in case the letter should fall into the wrong hands. She did not think Brynn was truly in danger, but Aldhelm must be keeping Uhtred’s presence a secret for some reason.

“You are sure that you will be safe?”

“I will be safe, Lady. Lord Aldhelm has arranged the meeting.”

“Do you know if my father has set a ransom?”

“Not as yet—but you will know soon. I will return with word as soon as I have any.”

The ink had dried. Aethelflaed rolled the parchment and tied it with a bit of leather.

“Please do be cautious, Brynn.”

Brynn’s smile brought ease to her racing mind. “I will be cautious, Lady. Try to rest.”

* * *

It was a few hours later, and Aethelflaed had given up trying to sleep.

She paced in her room a while, wondering how much longer she would have to wait. She had just resolved to go for a walk until sleep overcame her, resigned to not hear from Uhtred until morning, when Brynn slipped into the room.

“Thank God. I was growing worried. What word from Uhtred?”

Brynn glanced furtively about, then stepped closer to answer.

Aethelflaed’s heart began to race.

“Did you not speak with him?“

“He’s come for you, Lady.”

“Come for—“

Aethelflaed paused abruptly, listening to a sharp knock at her window. She may not have heard it had she still been asleep.

Brynn crossed to the window and opened it as quietly as possible, then jumped out of the way. A bearded man, dressed in dark leather with a deep brown cloak, hoisted his legs over the sill.

“Uhtred!”

Aethelflaed ran to him without a second thought, and he wrapped his arms around her in a familiar embrace. It was like she’d been swept up in a warm blanket.

He pulled back after a moment, studying her face and running his hands down her arms as if checking for broken bones.

“Lady Aethelflaed, you are not hurt?”

“You did not believe my note, I see. I am not hurt. I am quite well.”

Uhtred nodded in recognition to Brynn, who had returned to the door to listen for any incoming footsteps.

“Very well. We must go, and quickly. Take only what you need.”

Aethelflaed began to dress, her mind racing as she contemplated the journey home—dark and cold as the journey that had brought her to Aylesbury, but this time among friends.

“I should have known that you were near,” she said, pulling one of her hosen on, “I believe I saw one of your men in the city earlier.”

“Sihtric is not nearly as discreet as he thinks he is,” grumbled Uhtred. “But now is not the time for talk, Lady.”

“You must hurry,” Brynn said softly, kneeling to help her with one of her boots.

Aethelflaed leaned back in her chair slightly. The butterflies had returned to her stomach and she grew a bit lightheaded.

She could not leave this way. To try and escape now would jeopardize everything. Aethelred might have been the first one to step out of line, but the future of Mercian relations was at stake now and it was up to her to preserve their alliance.

“My Lady, what is it?”

Aethelflaed’s mouth had gone dry, but she knew she must speak.

“Uhtred, I cannot go with you.”

His shock was almost comical. Brynn, for her part, looked less surprised.

“I was sent to retrieve you, Lady. Why would you stay here?”

“I cannot go,” Aethelflaed repeated. “Rather, I cannot go with you now. I will not put your lives at risk, nor our relationship with Mercia, when I will be free to leave in a matter of days. Until then, you and your men will be welcome guests here.”

Uhtred cocked an eyebrow. “You will be free to leave? Pardon me, Lady, but that does not sound like the truth. You did not come here of your own accord, why do you expect to leave any other way?”

“Lord Aethelred has agreed that after a fortnight if my choice is to go, I will be free to do so.”

She glanced down at Brynn, who merely pulled her boots off without a word.

“And you believe him?” Uhtred asked.

“Yes,” Aethelflaed replied, “I believe him. His intentions are honorable, even if his actions were not.”

“You are too charitable, Lady,” Uhtred murmured, shaking his head. “I do not trust him, and I beg you to come with us now while you still have a chance.”

“I cannot,” she repeated. “I thank you for your devotion to me, but this could endanger everything. I cannot allow that. Aethelred will not harm me, but if he finds there is a conspiracy against him while he and I had an agreement, I cannot predict how Wessex might suffer.”

“You’re sure, Lady?”

“You must go, Uhtred. Come by the main gate in the morning with your men and I will send for you. You will be welcome here, I can ensure that.”

He lingered for a moment longer, eyes fixed on her face. She was sure he would see through any other excuse she could proffer. They would speak more tomorrow.

“Very well, Lady. I cannot force you. I will see you in the morning.”

He adjusted his cloak and vanished the way he’d appeared.

Aethelflaed held her breath, clutching the arms of her chair—she could barely believe what she had just said. Two days ago she would have jumped at the chance of an escape.

Brynn continued to help her undress in silence, but Aethelflaed was sure she had disappointed her somehow, and she could not help but care.

“Did I make the right decision, Brynn?”

“I cannot say. I know that Lord Aethelred has endeared himself to you, Lady.”

“But you would not have done the same were you in my position.”

Brynn shook her head gently.

“You would have been discovered, Brynn! Aldhelm knew of your involvement, which puts you in danger.”

“I trust Lord Aldhelm, Lady. I have had no reason not to. And though you do not know him well, he has had an interest in your well being since you’ve arrived.”

“He’s had an interest in me becoming Lady of Mercia. He cannot have known Uhtred intended for me to escape with him.”

“He did, Lady. I spoke with him prior to coming to you. He did not bless it, but he did not object.”

Aethelflaed huffed in frustration as she settled into bed.

“I cannot understand that. He himself told me mere days ago that he would not help me escape. Either he wants me to wed the Lord of Mercia or he does not. Which is it?”

“I do not know, Lady,” Brynn replied, blowing out all but the last of the candles, “I expect you ought to ask him.”

* * *

Aethelflaed had not believed Brynn fully until the next morning. Despite having warmed to Aldhelm slightly, it was inconceivable that he would go against Aethelred’s wishes in a way that would endanger his own standing. But when she saw him in the hall the next morning he did not attempt to mitigate his surprise.

She could not deny she enjoyed the feeling of being privy to information he did not have for once.

“Lord Aldhelm, good morning. I’ve come to speak with Lord Aethelred. Is he here?”

“He will join us in a moment.” Aldhelm gestured to the lord’s chambers then stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Did the Lord Uhtred—“

“I’ve told him to come by the gates this morning,” Aethelflaed replied evenly. “There is no reason my friends should not be received as honored guests.”

Aldhelm surveyed her, eyes narrowed. “I must admit I am surprised to see you here this morning, Lady. I had thought you would be grateful for a way out.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have spent so much time convincing me how wonderful Mercia is.”

She had hoped to elicit a smile from him, but he appeared too distracted.

“May I ask, do you wish my betrothal to your lord, or do you want me gone? It cannot be both.”

Before he could reply, Aethelred had joined them. He was as cheerful as she'd ever seen him, having had no idea how close he’d come to losing her the night before.

“Good morning, Lady. Aldhelm, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Apologies, Lord,” Aldhelm bowed his head. “I did not sleep well last night.”

Aethelred raised an eyebrow, then turned his attention to a porter who had just entered.

“Speak.”

“There is a party come to see Lady Aethelflaed, Lord.”

“A party?” Aethelred’s expression remained pleasant. “How many?”

“Four, my lord. Led by Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Aethelred’s face. In fairness, Uhtred’s name often provoked that reaction among the court of Wessex as well.

“I see,” Aethelred continued, with a glance at Aethelflaed, “we must receive them here, of course. Please arrange for rooms at the inn for them.”

“They’ve asked for an audience immediately.”

“Naturally.” Aethelred closed his eyes briefly. “Aldhelm, go and greet them.”

Aldhelm bowed and then Aethelflaed and the Lord of Mercia were left alone.

“A strange delegation your father has sent, my lady.”

His tone was laced with humor. Uhtred was well known as Alfred’s man in Wessex, but Aethelflaed could understand how it might seem an odd choice to a Mercian.

Aethelflaed smiled. “Uhtred may not be a diplomat but he is quite capable of supporting my interests here.”

Aethelred tipped his head in deference.

“I see. Would you prefer a private audience with your guests first?”

“You are kind to offer, Lord. Thank you.”

Aethelred’s smile was a bit strained but still agreeable.

“I hope all is well in Wessex, Lady. I will rejoin you this evening. Mercia will host your friends in style. For now, I have business to attend to, if you can spare me.”

“Of course. I will look forward to this evening.”

“Until then.”

A few moments after he’d left, Aldhelm returned with Uhtred and his men—Sihtric the Dane, Finan the Irishman, and a young Saxon monk they called Osferth. A strange delegation indeed.

“Thank you, my good man,” said Finan, once greetings had been exchanged. “Now bring us some ale, won’t you?”

Aldhelm bristled slightly.

“Finan, you speak out of turn,” Uhtred said sternly.

“I will have provisions sent in, Lady,” Aldhelm replied, with a bow to Aethelflaed. “I leave you to your guests.”

Despite Aldhelm’s skepticism, Aethelflaed was glad of the company. It was just the respite she needed from her own thoughts.

After they’d eaten, drunk, and laughed their fill, the others made their way to the inn to rest, leaving Uhtred and Aethelflaed to talk in confidence.

“How is my father, and my mother? How is Edward?”

“All well, Lady.”

“Even Mother?”

Uhtred grinned. “She’s never liked me, you know, but she did seem glad that I have been sent to retrieve you.”

“I do miss them,” Aethelflaed sighed.

“You shall see them again.”

“Yes, of course.”

Aethelflaed tore a piece of bread into smaller and smaller bits, more restless than hungry.

“Uhtred, we have not spoken of the betrothal yet. What news of the Danish alliance?”

Uhtred leaned forward, eyes trained on her face from across the table.

“The alliance is to proceed. Erik has agreed to marry the daughter of Earl Godwin, and your father has given his approval.”

This answer shocked Aethelflaed more than she had expected.

“Why didn’t you tell me this last night, Uhtred?”

“When you were banishing me from your chambers?”

“I stand by my decision to remain for now,” Aethelflaed replied, setting down her crust of bread. “Whether I leave or stay in Mercia, I will not hide my intentions.”

“You are disappointed that Erik will marry another?” Uhtred asked, cocking his head.

“No, not disappointed. Just surprised, I suppose.”

“I would have thought you were too proper a Saxon woman to marry a rough Danish earl, anyway,” Uhtred teased, one brow quirking up.

“He cannot be less refined than you, Lord, and we’ve always gotten along well,” Aethelflaed teased back.

“Very true. Now tell me, since you are no longer expected to bring peace to every Saxon kingdom, do you feel free to choose your fate for yourself, or beholden to the expectations placed upon you?”

“Both, I believe.”

Uhtred sighed and shook his head.

“Impossible. I would expect nothing less from a daughter of Alfred.”

Aethelflaed laughed and rose to her feet.

“I am restless. Will you walk with me?”

He acquiesced, following her out of the palace and into the courtyard. The sun was nearly at its peak and the trees that lined the path they walked let an occasional petal fall.

“You seem happy, Lady.”

“Should I not?”

“I did not expect you to,” Uhtred shrugged. “But then again, nothing has gone as expected since I arrived in Aylesbury.”

“Mercia is my mother’s home. I had always thought it might be my home too. I am not unhappy, I suppose.”

She glanced at him as he walked beside her. He was relaxed, but his hand never strayed far from his sword hilt.

“You are content in your marriage, are you not, Lord?”

Uhtred chuckled. “I am very fortunate, Lady. But I am not Alfred’s child. The stability of the kingdom doesn’t rely on my marriage bed.”

Aethelflaed held back a laugh.

Uhtred turned suddenly serious in that way of his. “I am sorry to be so flippant, Lady.”

“I have an unusual dilemma, I suppose. I thought this would be my path since I was a child, and only recently was preparing to follow a different path. Now that Erik has been betrothed to another woman I can carry on as before.”

“The question seems to be whether Lord Aethelred is the man you thought he was.”

It was plain that Uhtred did not think well of him.

“I admit, this reintroduction did not bode well. But for some reason I cannot abandon the idea of Mercia altogether, nor of marrying him.”

“He is very charming and handsome, I suppose,” Uhtred shrugged. “That would be enough for some.”

“You have been accused of being both, Uhtred,” Aethelflaed replied.

Uhtred laughed quite heartily.

“You mock me, Lady.”

“Yes,” she sighed. “I am happy you are here, Uhtred.”

“As am I. I am glad to find you so well. I was prepared for the worst when we set out from Winchester. Your mother was in quite a state. On the one hand, horrified. On the other, happy that you were no longer promised to a Dane. I myself was disappointed. I did want to see you raise a pack of half Danish warriors.”

Aethelflaed snorted. “I hope you didn’t say so in front of my mother.”

“Very nearly.” He grew sober for a moment. “I see that you are comfortable here, Lady. You will never want for anything, that is sure. Except maybe a husband worthy of you.”

“Aethelred is my equal.”

Uhtred smiled, a softer smile than usual. “That’s not what I mean, Lady. At any rate, your father would understand your decision to stay, if that is what you truly want. He sent me to provide you with a way out, but it does not seem you need one.”

“You would not advise me to return home, then? I trust your opinion, Uhtred.”

“I cannot advise you in this, Lady Aethelflaed. But I can promise you that if you need me at your side, I will do everything in my power to be there.”

It was a vow she knew he had very little chance of fulfilling, but it warmed her heart to hear it all the same.

“Does he always lurk like that?” Uhtred asked abruptly, shrugging toward Aldhelm, who was conferring with a palace guard halfway between them and the palace.

“I believe lurking is his chief function here.”

“I do not trust him.”

“I don’t believe he trusts you either, Uhtred. But he may be a friend.”

“And the Lord Aethelred? Is he a friend?”

“Perhaps, Lord.”

If there was such a thing as fate, Aethelflaed could not help but feel it was pulling her towards Aethelred.

She spent an hour that afternoon praying in the chapel, hoping for an answer of some kind, but was left with no greater peace than she’d started with.

Aethelred was a gracious host that evening, inviting Uhtred’s company to dine with the lord and ladies of the court. They kept rowdiness to a minimum, despite the wine flowing freely, due in no small part to Osferth switching Finan’s goblet out for a lighter pour at every opportunity.

“I maintain my surprise that you did not leave with your friends last night,” Aldhelm murmured to her during the feast, taking advantage of Aethelred’s slightly inebriated state to speak freely.

“I may have surprised myself,” Aethelflaed admitted, taking a sip of wine. “But I could not agree to leave here the same way I left Winchester. I am not a prize to be traded. I am a woman who will make decisions and walk on her own two feet towards her destiny.”

“You sound like the Lord Uhtred, Lady.”

“He thinks I’m mad not to have left Aylesbury.”

Aldhelm glanced down the table towards Uhtred’s watchful eye.

“He may, but he does not see us the way you do, Lady. Mercia is, after all, in your blood.”

Aethelflaed turned to Aethelred, who was now gazing at her from the head of the table with a fond expression that set the longing pulling at her stomach again. He raised his glass to her, and she mirrored the gesture.

She knew what her heart wanted, and since there was no inhibition any longer she felt sure she would give in.

* * *

It was the last evening of the fortnight she’d promised Aethelred. Tomorrow Aethelflaed was to give him her answer.

“You intend to marry him, don’t you?”

Brynn was watching her so closely that Aethelflaed felt her face grow slightly warm. She hadn’t declared her intentions to anyone else yet, but it was more a matter of not admitting the choice she’d already made in her mind. She may as well do it now.

“I do.” She felt a little lightheaded as she admitted it, but was unable to prevent herself from smiling.

Brynn smiled back, her pretty face dimpling.

“I am glad of your happiness, Lady.”

She glanced across the room at a trunk Uhtred had brought with him from Winchester. Atop it lay Aethelflaed’s leather armor and her sword.

“You are certainly not what I had expected.”

Aethelflaed crossed the room and picked up the weapon. As she unsheathed it the weight felt comforting and familiar.

“My father was adamant I learn to defend myself.”

“Have you ever seen battle?”

“I haven’t. I suppose I may if we see any Danish attacks to the east.”

“You would join the warriors?”

“If this is to be my home, I should like to take my place defending its people in the way Aethelred does. It’s not so unusual. What of Boudicca, your own warrior queen?”

“A brave woman, to be sure, but a gruesome end.”

“That is true.” Aethelflaed returned the weapon to its sheath. “I do not know if I will meet my end in battle or not, but I do believe my purpose lies here, in Mercia.”

“I look forward to seeing you discover it, my lady.”

* * *

Aethelred leaned over his desk, surveying a map spread out before him. Aldhelm was at his side.

They both glanced up, sensing her presence at the same time.

“Lady Aethelflaed,” Aethelred bowed. “You wish to speak with me?”

“Yes.” Aethelflaed’s pulse quickened, but she kept her voice steady. “I had hoped that we might speak privately.”

“We shall finish our conversation later, Lord,” Aldhelm said in a low tone.

His lord was barely listening, merely raising a hand in assent as Aldhelm made his exit.

Aethelred’s eyes were fixed on hers and his face had gone slightly pale.

“I do not know what to think. You are so serious, Lady.”

Aethelflaed cleared her throat, as nervous as she had been at their first meeting.

“You know that I was not predisposed to like you, Lord, given the way in which we were introduced. But I agree with you that to break our standing agreement, however informal, was in bad faith. I believe in the greatness of Mercia, and I know that our marriage would strengthen and further unite the Saxon kingdoms. I would be honored to lead alongside you, as your wife.”

A slow smile overtook his face.

“I can hardly believe my ears—it is I who am honored, Lady. You have made me the happiest man alive. I did not dare to hope you would accept me after my missteps. I feel that I am caught in the happiest dream, that I may wake up at any moment.”

In answer, she closed the distance between them. He cupped her face gently, and the desire stirred within her again. It felt an eternity before he kissed her, and when he did she melted into him.


	4. Aspirations and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aethelflaed settles into married life in Mercia, but she finds her husband is not quite the person she had hoped. Aldhelm remains a constant, though somewhat aloof, presence, and Brynn provides comfort at a traumatic moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags that apply this chapter: first instances of dub-con and non-con, as well as generally abusive behavior and alcohol use. Aethelflaed's first time is described during the consumation scene and it's not a great experience for her to say the least. Things pretty much get worse from there.

They were married right away. Uhtred stood witness before returning to Wessex. Aethelred wore gold, his bride wore blue. Aethelflaed was sure she glowed with pride, and she saw her own happiness reflected in her husband as he beamed across at her all evening.

It was a bittersweet day. Aethelflaed wished that her family could be there to celebrate with them. But neither she nor Aethelred had wanted to delay. It would be best for her father to be assured of their affection for each other as soon as possible, and a quick marriage would show the unity of the Saxon kingdoms against any adversaries. She was not sure how much faith to put in the peace-weaver that had been betrothed to Erik in her place, but it would do no good to dwell on that now. She had her duty, and so did Aethelred. Together, they could help to achieve her father’s dream of a united England.

Aethelflaed had written three letters—for her father, her mother, and Edward, assuring each of her affection for them and her welfare in Mercia—which she gave to Uhtred during the wedding feast. He was meant to leave at first light the next morning.

“You will look out for them, Uhtred?”

“I will,” he said, pressing a kiss to her hand. “I promise. But who will look out for you?”

“I will look out for myself.”

“Not your husband?”

Aethelflaed glanced across the hall to where Aethelred sat, laughing at the side of Aldhelm, whose face was graced by an uncharacteristic smile.

“My husband will protect me if necessary.”

Uhtred sighed, not convinced. “You will remember the lessons Steapa taught you?”

“Keep light on my feet, use my voice, and never back down,” Aethelflaed nodded.

“And the lessons I’ve taught you?”

“I will refuse to accept defeat and exasperate the men of Wessex at every opportunity.”

Uhtred laughed heartily. “You have learned well, Lady. Now go and enjoy your marriage bed.”

“Uhtred!” Aethelflaed blushed.

His face twitched in amusement, and he raised his cup in a salute as she slipped away to the Aethelred’s chambers.

She removed her gown, fingers trembling slightly as she undid the clasps at the front, and sat on the edge of the bed in her silk shift. It was slightly chilly so she pulled a blanket over her shoulders as she waited, butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

When she heard a noise at the door her pulse quickened. Aethelred smiled widely at her when he entered the room, and she heard the sounds of merriment creep in from the great hall until he’d closed the door again.

Aethelred’s face was ruddy with wine. He stumbled slightly toward the bed, fumbling with the brooch at the shoulder of his tunic before tearing it off and exposing the linen shirt underneath.

He raked his eyes up and down her body slowly. Aethelflaed could feel her face growing warm and hoped he did not notice. She saw the goosebumps rise on her thighs through the near translucence of her garment as her anticipation grew. Her stomach was feeling uneasy. She was unsure if it was because she hadn’t eaten much all day, or if eating would have made it worse.

“My beautiful wife.”

Aethelflaed smiled, heart beating in her throat.

“I hope you will be gentle with me, Lord,” she managed to whisper.

He huffed a small laugh, then placed a hand firmly on each of her thighs, leaning in towards her.

“I shall indeed be gentle with you tonight.”

His eyes flicked down to where her breasts peeked out from the silk. Aethelflaed’s breath stalled. She could feel her nipples growing harder, she was almost lightheaded to be so close to a man wearing so little. And to think, he was her husband—

Aethelred interrupted her thoughts with a kiss, rather wetter and clumsier than the kiss they had shared before. She was just adjusting to his hands creeping up to her hips, his tongue exploring her mouth, when he pressed forward and lowered her onto the bed. His weight was heavy as he lumbered on top of her. She could feel the warmth of his cock, now firm, pressed against her inner thigh.

“You are beautiful, Aethelflaed,” he murmured in her ear. “Untouched. Pure.”

She did not know why, but she was finding it hard to breathe. She had nearly worked up the courage to ask for a moment’s reprieve when he pulled her skirt up around her waist with a single motion.

“Your skin is so pale,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her chest. The curl of his beard sent a tremble down her spine.

“My Lord—“

Aethelred was not listening. He brushed a finger against her opening and then entered her unceremoniously. She cried out softly from the pain, unable to stop herself. Her husband did not seem to notice, rocking harder and faster. Her breath came in quick gasps. She gripped the blanket below her, unsure if she was to touch him or how.

This was not as she had expected the moment to occur.

He panted at her neck as he finished, and rolled off her to sleep immediately after, the wine having finally overcome him.

She lay there for a time, arms clutched at her side, heart still racing. Her shift, slightly wet with cum, clung to the middle of her body as she crept out of bed. She wrapped herself in the gown she’d been married in and returned to her own chambers.

Brynn had laid out a fresh shift for her and kept the tapers lit.

Aethelflaed undressed and dabbed her skin with a damp cloth, removing what she could of the sweat and semen.

* * *

It was strange to wake the next morning knowing she was a wife. Something gnawed at her, something uncertain and unpleasant. Perhaps it was normal, perhaps not. She had not expected to be so forlorn the morning after her wedding. Had she done something wrong?

It appeared not. She and Aethelred shared a midday meal and she had never seen him in better spirits. He was quite happy and affectionate over the next several days, doting on her with gifts: a lovely silk gown, a fine leather belt, some jewels. The following week it was a horse, the next a pair of beautiful boots.

“My beautiful wife,” was how he referred to her from the servants to the Ealdormen. He did not seem to think anything was amiss.

He often came to her room in the evenings, though sometimes he would summon her to his chambers. It hurt a little less the second time they made love, and each time after that. But weeks later Aethelflaed still felt awkward, unsure how to behave. Her husband did not seem displeased with her, but she did not feel herself when she was with him. Her mind would wander as she lay frozen in place, uncertain of what she was supposed to be doing and why he did not require more of her.

The only person she could ask for advice on this matter, or nearly any matter, was Brynn.

“I have a question which you might find impertinent,” Aethelflaed blurted.

Brynn was helping her undress as she prepared for bed. She’d waited until her back was to the servant.

“I am happy to assist you in any way that I can, Lady,” Brynn replied cheerfully.

Aethelflaed took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she gathered the nerve to speak. “I am not sure how I ought to act when my husband and I are…alone.”

Brynn didn’t answer for a moment, merely begun to comb Aethelflaed’s hair. When she replied it was as if she had found the question perfectly normal.

“Do you feel he is not pleased with you, or you with him?”

“I believe he is pleased with me. For my part, I cannot seem to find the experience enjoyable.” Aethelflaed flushed, ashamed to admit it.

Brynn came round and steered her towards the bed.

“Sit down, my lady. You have no need to be ashamed. I am told many young wives feel this way.”

“Have you laid with a man?” Aethelflaed could not help herself from asking.

Brynn laughed. “I’m sorry, I mean no disrespect. I have. But every person is different. May I ask, is your husband kind to you? Does he respond to your touch, your requests?”

“That’s the problem.” Aethelflaed’s blush deepened. “I don’t know what to do, where to begin.”

Brynn’s smile faded, but her expression remained gentle as she cocked her head.

“Do you know what you’d like him to do, how you’d like him to behave towards you when you are together?”

“I don't think I do.”

“It may take you some time to determine.” Her gaze fell to Aethelflaed’s hands, clutched together on her lap. “I know it can be hard to relax, but try.”

Aethelflaed felt the knot in her chest growing, similar to the way she felt when she was with Aethelred, but Brynn’s steadiness calmed her.

“Allow me to help, Lady,” Brynn said, sitting tentatively beside her on the bed.

Aethelflaed nodded. She would try.

“Lie back on the bed and close your eyes.”

Aethelflaed hesitated, her apprehension rising.

“Trust me,” Brynn murmured, placing a tender hand on her shoulder.

Aethelflaed took a deep breath and lay back, closing her eyes.

“Now imagine he’s with you.”

She felt the bed shift as Brynn laid down beside her.

“He’s taking you by the hand, touching your hair,” Brynn went through the motions as she narrated, sending a tremor of warmth down Aethelflaed’s spine. “And he’s asking you what you want. What do you say?”

Aethelflaed bit her lower lip, fighting the inclination to ball her hands into fists. “I want to be kissed…softly at first.”

“And then?”

“More passionately. Kissed until I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To take him in.”

“And then?”

“I want him to go slowly. Gently.”

“That’s good.” She could hear the smile in Brynn’s voice. “Can you tell him that?”

Aethelflaed opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling before turning to her companion.

“I believe I can try.”

Brynn smiled, pink lips parting slightly, and Aethelflaed felt something in her belly stir, not unlike the butterflies that had accompanied her on her wedding night.

* * *

Her next time with Aethelred was more pleasant. Anxious at first, Aethelflaed centered herself with a few deep breaths and then asked him to wait. He pulled back at first, uncertain of what she meant. Barely bold enough to assert herself, Aethelflaed managed to explain.

“Let us linger here, in this moment, before we rush forward.”

A smile dawned on his face. “Gentleness,” he replied, then returned to kissing her.

Brynn’s advice had helped. But Aethelflaed did not feel as inclined towards her husband as she had hoped.

As a girl, she had always known she would marry primarily for political advantage, not passion. It had been foolish of her to think otherwise.

Perhaps this was what marriage was. Perhaps this was even what love was.

* * *

Several weeks had passed, and Aethelflaed settled into her new life. The sense that something was not quite right nagged at her thoughts when she was idle, but there was very little time for idleness.

Her husband, despite all his passion for Mercia, declined to hear the requests of his people quite often. Since marrying he preferred to leave the duties of responding to such missives to his wife. He spent his time hunting or playing tafl, and Aethelflaed would often not see him until the evening meal. Many days she was busy with household tasks from after morning prayers until nightfall.

Rather than struggling under the weight of these responsibilities Aethelflaed was grateful that Aethelred trusted her enough to run the household with little interference. He attended to greater matters of state, of course, and she wished someday to be consulted more about such things. That would come in time, she hoped.

The more she learned of the lay of the land, the more she was convinced Mercians would benefit from a system of burghs similar to the one her father had built in Wessex. King Alfred had overseen the construction of a series of forts and roads which had strengthened the kingdom against outside attacks. Aethelflaed wanted to bring the idea to her husband but was unsure how he would respond. Aethelred was often too preoccupied to be bothered with anything other than the most pressing business, so it often fell to Lord Aldhelm to assist her day to day.

Aethelflaed remained unsure what she ought to think of her husband’s advisor, but other than Aethelred there was no one more committed to protecting Mercia. She could not forget he had been willing to go against Aethelred’s wishes by helping Uhtred, but still she did not know why. At any rate, Aldhelm became quite invaluable to her as Lady of Mercia.

“I have wanted to speak to you about something before bringing it to my husband, Lord Aldhelm,” Aethelflaed said as she was finishing the business of the day.

Aldhelm, who had been sitting nearby, inclined his shoulders towards her. “I would be glad to listen.”

Aethelflaed set down her pen.

“I think there are significant improvements that can be made in and around Aylesbury. We should build and fortify burghs, creating a proper system for defense. Our roads can use attention as well. And we should also construct better storage systems for harvest time. The stronger we are in times of peace, the better prepared we will be in times of war.”

Aethelflaed had no shortage of ideas. She told him of Danish structures she had seen for preserving grain through the winter. Supplementing the old Roman roads would promote trade throughout the kingdom, and many churches could be established in holy places which would contribute to thriving cities.

Aldhelm listened intently as she spoke, but she could not tell if he was pleased or merely polite. When she finished she half expected him to brush off her ideas as impractical. Instead, he grabbed a spare bit of parchment and the pen she’d dropped.

“I believe you are right, Lady.” The pen ticked against the ink well as he spoke, then scratched against the parchment as he began to draw. “I know that providing a more suitable plan for defense been a source of tension among the Ealdormen—not to sow doubt in your mind regarding your husband, of course, Lady. Lord Aethelred cares very much, but as yet he has been rather distracted with greater Saxon politics.”

The addition was made swiftly and in earnest. Aethelflaed was curious to learn more of how her husband was perceived by his countrymen, but she thought she had better tread lightly despite coming to trust Aldhelm’s discretion.

Aldhelm laid the map he’d just sketched upon the table, and it was a near-perfect depiction of the vision she had in her head.

“You think it is a good plan, then?”

“Yes, Lady. A very good plan.”

“I am glad of it. I believe such an investment in the future of Mercia would be worth making.”

Aldhelm smiled.

Perhaps Aethelflaed truly had misjudged him at first. He was conniving and clever to be sure, but his love for Mercia could not be mistaken, and he did not merely parrot Aethelred’s opinions. When Aethelred spoke of his home, he talked of the glory of battles won and the splendor of its golden days. When Aldhelm spoke of Mercia he was quieter, more grounded. He spoke of the resilience and loyalty of its people. It was quite clear to Aethelflaed why her husband kept such a man close.

* * *

Aethelflaed made her appeal to her husband the very next week.

He listened to her speech without revealing what he thought of it. When she was finished, he turned to Aldhelm first.

“You did say she would be to our political advantage in more ways than one, did you not?”

“I did, Lord,” Aldhelm replied, bowing his head towards Aethelflaed.

Aethelred turned back to his wife, wearing an almost amused expression.

“You’ve done very well here, dear, and I would be happy to grant your requests. I do hope, however, you won’t tire yourself out.”

“I am not overtired, Lord. I seek to do my duty by our people.”

Aethelred took a sip of his wine, one eyebrow quirking up.

“You are so very serious. I believe Aldhelm has rubbed off on you.”

He glanced over at Aldhelm.

“Leave us, please. I would spend some time with my wife.”

He’d pulled Aethelflaed into his lap before Aldhelm had even left the room.

“I do enjoy your passion, I hope you know.”

Aethelflaed closed her eyes and kissed him softly, keeping in mind her conversation with Brynn.

“I would not have you spend all your time working,” he continued, running his hands down her body. “You must not forget your duties to me as well as to Mercia.”

“Never, Lord,” Aethelflaed breathed, and let him lead her into the next room.

* * *

It was summer that things began to unravel. The air hung heavy with rain for weeks on end, making the weight of even the simplest tasks heavy. There had been raids near Danelaw reported recently, which irritated Aethelred more every day. His attitude towards Aethelflaed soured, sharp comments and glowering looks making it clear that he blamed her for the unrest. It would have done no good to point out he had been the one to prevent a stronger Danish alliance.

Things came to a head one morning just after Midsummer. Aethelred received word that Alfred had granted Guthred a title and lands near Lunden without his knowledge, and that was too much for the Lord of Mercia to bear.

They were at dinner when the messenger arrived. Aldhelm was attending to a matter with the guard, so Aethelflaed was alone with her husband.

Aethelred’s irritation grew as he read the news. Aethelflaed watched him with bated breath. He stood and began to pace, reading it again.

Finally, he stormed off without a word.

He came to her bed chamber that evening with a wild look in his eye that unsettled her so deeply she immediately glanced across the room at her sword, half a mind to make a desperate dash for it.

He followed her gaze and laughed when his eyes lit upon the weapon.

“Do you wish to fight me, Wife?” he asked incredulously.

“No, Lord, but you do not seem yourself.”

“I am more myself than I have been in some time.”

That unsettled her even further. Her stomach turned with anxiety. Aethelred had taken a seat between her and the sword as if he were taunting her.

“I know that you are upset over the raids,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. “If you came to parlay with the Danes I am sure there could be a settlement of some kind to be reached.”

His fingers tensed where they rested on his knees and a muscle in his jaw flicked. If she had to guess, it would not have been the first time that this course of action had been suggested today.

“I will not beg before my enemies,” he spat. “I will not grovel to take what is mine.”

“Lord, you must agree that you bear some responsibility for these attacks.”

She immediately knew she should not have said it. But something in her was searching for the presence of reason in his madness. And perhaps something else wished to goad him, push him to the full extent of his rage.

He laughed again, this time with more disdain than humor.

“You presume to tell me how I am to lead? A few months of minding the ledgers and you think you are wiser than I am? You are as proud and foolish as your father.”

Aethelflaed pressed her hands into fists, willing herself to remain composed, to maintain the upper hand.

“Did you come here simply to insult me, Lord?”

Eyes flashing with anger, he sprang forward and crossed the room with a few strides, staring her down from mere inches away. She could not help but flinch, and the moment she did he had grabbed her by the throat.

She could not prevent a plea from springing to her lips.

“Why must you hurt me?”

“It is what I desire,” he replied in a dull voice, leaning forward so that she could feel his breath on her skin.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the tears pricked in her eyes.

“You are what I desire, cowering and small.”

Aethelflaed drew herself up as tall as she could, her husband’s fingers still wrapped around her throat.

“You will regret treating me this way, Lord,” she hissed. “You are the fool if you think otherwise.”

He raised his hand from her neck to gently cup her jawline. For the briefest moment, she thought she may have won him over, shown him she would not be treated this way.

Then, the sneer was back and his fingers pressed into the skin at her collarbone. Her stomach dropped.

“I will not be denied. On the bed, Wife.”

Aethelflaed bit her lip to stop it from trembling. “And if I refuse?”

He did not speak but with one swift motion he twisted her arm behind her, forcing her to her knees, then lifted her onto the bed lying on her belly.

Aethelflaed cried out in shock and clutched the wool coverlet, pulling some of the cloth into her mouth to stifle her sobs. She would not give him the satisfaction of hearing her in pain.

He pulled her skirts out of the way with a few rough motions, his careless fingertips brushing against her opening without any thought of her comfort. She could feel his entire weight atop her, and for a moment she thought she might faint, unable to draw breath.

The feeling passed, though she almost wished she’d lost consciousness. Then he entered her. It was so abrupt and forceful that her vision went dark for a second. He continued to pin her arm behind her with one hand and with the other he pulled the shoulder of her dress away and grabbed her exposed breast.

Aethelflaed had gone completely limp. He was holding her in position with his hands and each thrust of his cock. There was nothing she could do but silently pray for the time to pass quickly, and pray she did.

He came with a moan, lips brushing against her ear, and then pulled out of her as abruptly as he’d entered her.

She heard him close the door as she sank to the ground, unable to pull herself up on the bed.

She didn’t know how long she’d been lying there when Brynn found her and helped her up. Aethelred’s cum, mixed with a little blood, trailed down the inside of her leg as she stood, and the sudden thought of pregnancy crossed her mind in horror. It had not been at the forefront of her mind until now. Her breath came in sharp gasps as she tried to frantically wipe herself clean.

“I cannot…I cannot bear—“ she began to sob, unable to speak.

Brynn gently brushed back the strands of hair that clung to Aethelflaed’s face, wet with tears, and then reached into the pocket of her apron.

“Hush, my lady…take this.”

She held a small vial made of cloudy glass.

“Drink all of it, and no conception will take place.”

“Are you sure—“

“Yes, Lady. It has never failed me, or my mother before me.”

Aethelflaed drained it despite the bitter taste. Brynn brought a bowl of warm water and cloth to bathe her, then changed the bed linens so they longer smelled of him.

She crawled into bed. Brynn sat beside her for a time, stroking her hair and murmuring a song she could not understand.

She was overcome by weariness, by sadness, by despair. If only she could go back to feeling numb. Perhaps she would. She was fairly sure this would not be the last time her husband would force himself on her.

Her breath was still ragged but she felt calmer in time. Her heart was no longer pounding, but Brynn continued to rub her back comfortingly.

It must have been very late when the other woman broke the silence.

“I should go, Lady. You need to rest.”

“No, please,” Aethelflaed turned to grasp Brynn’s hand. “Please, will you stay?”

Brynn’s eyes were filled with sympathy, or perhaps some pain of her own—it was hard to tell when Aethelflaed’s own eyes were filled with tears.

Brynn slipped into bed and held her, and Aethelflaed’s breathing returned to normal as she rested upon Brynn’s chest. The warmth of Brynn’s presence, the beat of her heart, was the greatest comfort she could imagine.

“I should never have married him,” she murmured. “I have no one to blame but myself.”

“You cannot take his cruelty upon your own conscience. He is responsible for the harm he causes, Lady, and he alone.”

Aethelflaed breathed deeply and turned up to face her. Brynn had a fierce look in her eye.

“You can fight back, Lady. Not with weapons, or words, but you have power over him too. Not the same that he has over you, but he does need you. You have helped to solidify his position among the kingdoms, and what’s more, you have the ability to bring him pain or pleasure in smaller ways.”

Aethelflaed’s head was swimming with exhaustion. She closed her eyes and nestled her head in Brynn’s shoulder.

“That all sounds very wise, Brynn, but I am far too tired for such a conversation.”

Brynn stroked her hair. “Later, then.”

She stayed with Aethelflaed as they drifted off to sleep together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: I'm considering taking a breather for a bit and then switching to a Thursday posting schedule (resuming on December 3). Work is super busy for the next week and I seem to get better traffic on weekdays than weekends, plus that will give me a chance to work ahead. So if I don't post next Sunday that's why!


	5. Endurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aethelflaed grows closer with Brynn, though she remains leery of Aldhelm, and discovers a way to take back some power in her marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: continued non-con and dub-con.

When Aethelflaed woke, she was alone. Daylight crept in through the vellum pane of her window but apart from that, she had no idea what time it was.

By some cruel trick she had first thought to be waking in Wessex, back in her childhood bedroom, but before she opened her eyes the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach reminded her what she’d endured the night before.

Aethelflaed sat up slowly. Red welts had formed on her wrist where Aethelred had held her arm behind her, and between her thighs felt raw and swollen.

Gingerly she swung her legs over the side of the bed and rested her feet on the floor. She felt a little lightheaded, possibly from the concoction Brynn had provided her last night. But she would gladly trade a slightly sick feeling for pregnancy.

Aethelflaed was still sitting in bed when Brynn rejoined her, bringing a plate of food. She had put on a fresh apron but her hair still fell loose upon her shoulders the way it had last night. Perhaps it was just the relief upon seeing a friendly face, but Aethelflaed instantly felt comforted.

Brynn, for her part, appeared just as pleased to see Aethelflaed.

“Here, my lady, you should eat something.”

“I will,” Aethelflaed replied, her voice slightly hoarse, “if you will join me.”

Brynn’s dimples appeared. “I’ve already eaten, but I will sit with you if you like.”

Aethelflaed took a bite of an apple and smoothed the bed next to her. Brynn sat and began to loosen the braid on that side. Her hair did not need to be styled, but Aethelflaed didn’t complain. She liked the way Brynn’s fingers felt brushing against her scalp.

“You should enjoy some fresh air this afternoon, Lady.”

“Is it afternoon already?”

“I didn't wake you,” Brynn said softly. “You seemed to need the rest.”

“I wish I could sleep longer,” Aethelflaed replied ruefully.

Brynn paused braiding to place a comforting hand on Aethelflaed’s shoulder. “Fresh air will help too, Lady.”

Aethelflaed took Brynn’s hand and brought it gently to her lap. Her palms were slighter rougher than Aethelflaed’s and the warm brown shade of her skin faded to pink on her palm and the pads of her fingers. Brynn squeezed her hand back, and the feeling sent a warm shudder down Aethelflaed’s spine.

“Will you accompany me?” Aethelflaed asked, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

“I must attend to my mother,” Brynn replied, all cheerfulness having faded from her face. “She’s ill and has need of me today.”

“Of course,” Aethelflaed said, feeling foolish for having assumed Brynn would be free to attend to her every whim. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’m afraid not,” Brynn said and dropped Aethelflaed’s hand to resume braiding. “She’s been ill for some time, all that I can do is try to soothe her pain. I don’t believe she will live much longer.”

“I am terribly sorry, Brynn.” Aethelflaed could not help but think that Brynn was nearly alone in the world now, her mother being the only connection she had to her homeland. She did not seem to want to speak on the subject further, but Aethelflaed’s heart ached for her.

“And where is Lord Aethelred today?” Aethelflaed heard herself asking. “I should like to avoid him.”

Brynn’s tone was stiff as she replied, “I believe Lord Aethelred has been in his chambers most of the day. You should be able to avoid him easily.”

Aethelflaed winced. She put down the apple.

“Is he alone?”

Brynn knew exactly what she meant. “No, Lady.”

Aethelflaed exhaled a shaky breath. “I expect I should be glad he’s spared me this time. But the thought of him treating anyone else the way he’s treated me…” She trailed off, a sick feeling growing in her stomach.

“You react with compassion for another, Lady Aethelflaed,” Brynn said gently.

“If only I had heeded your warning.”

“I had hoped for your high birth you might be spared from his cruelty.”

Aethelflaed glanced over. Brynn was gazing at her with such understanding it nearly took her breath away. She reached for her hand again.

“I never thanked you, for last night.” Aethelflaed felt herself growing slightly shy as she spoke.

Brynn’s eyes remained locked on hers.

“I have more of the potion, Lady, whenever you are in need.”

She stood slowly, running her thumb up Aethelflaed’s wrist as she released her hand.

“I believe I shall need it quite often, for a time.”

“Then I will bring it to you when your husband visits if that is your wish.”

Aethelflaed felt tears spring to her eyes. “I do not know what I would do without your kindness, Brynn. I would not have been able to sleep last night...”

A slight pinkish hue rose beneath the freckles on Brynn’s cheeks. Aethelflaed felt her own face growing warm at the memory of their bodies curled together, the intimacy generated by trauma and desperation. She was certain that she was not the only one whose heart was beating faster.

“I will be here,” Brynn said, “when you have need of me.”

It was more than an empty promise. And Aethelflaed had never needed the security of such loyalty more.

“You are strong and kind, Lady,” Brynn continued. “You will make your way in Mercia, and will find you have more friends than you know.”

She slipped away then, leaving Aethelflaed to wonder what exactly she had meant.

Aethelflaed took Brynn’s advice before long and walked about the palace and beyond. Fortunately, she did not encounter Aethelred, and did as much as she could to push him from her mind altogether.

She wandered until she reached the edge of the city. She was reminded how high the walls of the fortress were, how they were manned every twenty feet. It would be useless to try and break free, even if she had the desire to run. Still, she climbed up the ramparts, hoping that the sight of open fields to the south would bring her some comfort. Guards moved aside to let her by.

When she reached the edge of the battlements and saw the vastness of Mercia spread out before her a wave of sadness washed over her. The home of her childhood felt like a distant memory. She wanted to be far away from this new life, in Westminster or farther. The last time she’d seen her mother felt a lifetime ago.

She did not know when she would see Wessex again. Perhaps she never would. She began to feel a little faint, wavering slightly on her feet. She was really and truly trapped in this new Mercian life, and she had no one to blame but herself for choosing this path.

She gripped the wall before her and focused on her breathing, refusing to cry. She could not give in to despair, she would not allow Aethelred to everything from her. He may have her body and her influence but her mind was her own.

She’d just calmed herself enough to think clearly again when Aldhelm appeared at her side.

“Lady,” he bowed, then catching her eye his face became troubled. “You are ill. Allow me to escort you inside.”

Perhaps he knew of her sadness, perhaps he did not. It was futile to think he could help her either way. She knew where his allegiance lay, despite any qualms he might have with Aethelred’s more foolish choices.

“Why are you here, Lord Aldhelm?”

The chill in her voice surprised even her own ears.

A furrow formed between his brows but his tone was courteous as he replied, “Lord Aethelred has asked me to ensure you are well. Will you be joining him for the evening meal?”

Aethelflaed gasped, a bitter laugh escaping her.

“Of course he sends you on this errand rather than come himself. If your task is to ensure I am well, Lord, you ought to stand between him and me.”

Aldhelm’s expression clouded further. He seemed torn between pressing her for more details and abiding by propriety. The pleasure that level of control brought her was small but satisfying.

“I do not know what has happened between you and your husband, Lady,” he said in a low, steady voice, “but I promise, whatever you may think of Lord Aethelred, you will always have a loyal home in Mercia.”

Aethelflaed laughed again. He spoke well, but his words were hollow.

“I had a home, Lord. I abandoned it for honor and love. I should have left Mercia when I had the chance, but I was deceived. My honor is gone, my love has turned to ash.”

Aldhelm’s confusion had turned to concern. He gripped the sword at his hip.

“Lady Aethelflaed, you are not well. May I escort you back to your chambers?”

“I will escort myself. You may tell Lord Aethelred I will not join him this evening.”

She left him in her wake, hand white-knuckled on his hilt.

* * *

Aethelred came to her the next night, and several nights following. It was always the same—he laid her on the bed, she remained still and tried not to think about the pain as he raped her. Sometimes she was spared if, presumably, he turned his attentions to another woman, but Aethelflaed preferred not to think of that.

Her husband had no mind for pleasure—certainly not hers, but it seemed even his own. He penetrated her as if it were a mindless act. He hardly spoke when they were together, and seemed to relish the tension in her body as she braced herself for impact. He sought to exercise power over her, with the added effect of emptying himself. Nothing more.

Aethelflaed made no effort to maintain social niceties. She could not sit across from him and pretend that they were friendly. She saw no one outside of the palace attendants most days, and Aethelred did not seem to mind or even notice that she’d abandoned her household duties.

She languished in her chambers, holding on to memories that reminded her of the joy she had known in her old home. Her childhood seemed several lifetimes ago. She ran through the years in her head over and over, writing many letters to her family that she would never send.

Brynn brought food in the mornings and the evenings, and would return after Aethelred left to bring the bitter vial that ensured his seed did not take.

The serving woman was kind and gentle despite her own hardships, a growing source of solace for Aethelflaed. She could not have borne it alone, but in the small moments they shared day to day, she smiled and even laughed, able to forget briefly that she was caught in a loveless marriage with a cruel man. It was as if Brynn brought light into the darkness, nourishment into a drought, reminding her that the world was not entirely a harsh and cruel place, that hope could survive in the rockiest soil. And every time Aethelred visited her, Aethelflaed’s hope would wilt a little more.

One night he came to her chambers so late that she had been sure she would escape her fate for the evening. She had already undressed—not that Aethelred had cared one way or another. He barely looked at her anymore, just commanded her to obey him.

That night, however, he seemed in a mood to talk. He’d even brought wine, a goblet for each of them. Aethelflaed accepted warily, wondering what had caused him to soften his demeanor.

“Sit with me,” he commanded, and Aethelflaed sat beside him on the bed, though she did not bother to adjust her sour countenance.

He surveyed her expression with what appeared to be amusement, his lips pursed and cheeks slightly ruddy from the wine.

“I would appreciate, Wife, if you could try to enjoy our time together this evening. I am in the mood for conversation.”

Aethelflaed took a sip before answering, attempting to suppress her anger from flaring.

“I’m sure you can find that elsewhere, Husband. It is clear you have a single use for me.”

Aethelred cocked an eyebrow, then leaned over to brush a finger across her chest. He pulled the neckline of her shift down as far as it would go, his fingernail grazing one of her nipples.

Aethelflaed shivered.

“You do not seem to be enjoying yourself, my dear,” he said archly.

“I am surprised you notice,” she replied.

“And the reason for your unhappiness?”

“You have not been gentle with me, Lord.”

“Gentle?”

“Yes, as you promised when we wed.”

His face twisted in contempt.

“And what do you know of gentleness? Whose lovemaking can you compare to mine?”

Aethelflaed could not tell if he was genuinely angry or merely toying with her. She was not sure there was a meaningful difference.

“What are you accusing me of?”

“I think you are well aware,” he replied. He set his cup aside and took hers too, then stood before her with his hands clasped before him, looking down at her as if surveying a wholly unknown quantity.

His gaze pierced through her as if he was attempting to ascertain her truthfulness by sight alone. She recoiled internally as he took her hands and brought her to her feet but she kept her eyes fixed on him, determined not to lose whatever battle of wills they were locked in.

“I have not been unfaithful, Lord.”

His tongue darted between his lips briefly and he narrowed his eyes. “I am glad to hear it.”

He continued to look at her curiously then led her back to the bed with more care than usual. She slipped out of her shift perfunctorily, then sat with her back to him. He pressed kisses to her neck, and she tried not to shudder, tried to ignore the sick feeling that rose in her belly.

“Is this gentle enough for you, Lady?” She could hear him suppressing a laugh as he spoke.

Something in her snapped. She was no longer overwhelmed by dread, but by hatred and something more.

The feel of his beard against her skin, the softness of his mouth—she could not see him, just feel him. Her nipples hardened, she felt a twinge between her legs. She did not recognize herself but had no desire to waste time in questions. There was a longing in her belly, a desire to sap some enjoyment from this experience for herself if she was to be subjected to it.

She turned, then with a swift motion pushed him down on the bed and straddled him.

“What game is this, woman?”

His eyes were wide, pupils blown, unsure what to make of her newfound confidence.

“Do not speak,” she commanded, then began to grind against his cock, allowing her hips to guide her.

He pushed himself up by one elbow and gripped her ass with the other hand. Her eyes were closed now, it was not Aethelred beneath her, it was some faceless man whom she would never have to see again.

The man slipped inside her and enclosed one of her nipples in his mouth and sucked, then pressed kisses between her breasts and up her neck. Aethelflaed gripped his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin as the wetness between her legs grew. He collapsed back onto the bed with a cry.

She was building friction now. She ran a hand down her body, finding the sensitive spot within her and keening with satisfaction from the dual stimulation—unfamiliar but welcome.

Rocking her hips more slowly, she found her rhythm. Her breath came in shorter gasps, she began to block everything but herself out. He had come with a moan already, emptying into her, but she was still finding her pleasure. Closer and closer, he gripped her as she rose and fell and then—

Aethelflaed could have screamed. The waves came over her, radiating outwards, reaching her shoulders and causing them to shudder as she found her release.

She leaned forward as her breath returned, then rolled off him. She barely cared to look at him, though out of the corner of her eye she could tell he was staring at her. They both lay still for a moment, heavy breathing almost in sync.

He reached towards her tentatively, ghosting a hand up her belly and bringing it to rest beneath her breasts.

In that moment, nothing could have irritated her more.

“I would have you return to your chambers, Lord.”

Aethelred huffed a laugh, his breath still uneven.

“Do you command me to leave you, Wife?”

“Yes. Neither of us has a use for the other now.”

Then she turned on her side, facing away from him. She half expected him to retaliate in some way. To her surprise, he did not speak again but dressed quietly and left.

She took the draught that Brynn brought her, and immediately fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning Aethelflaed woke with a renewed vigor for life. She had no desire to hide away any longer. She was determined to resume her duties and some semblance of the new life she’d established.

She marched to Aethelred’s chambers as soon as she’d dressed. Brynn had remarked that she’d seemed in good spirits that morning, but Aethelflaed had been too focused on the task at hand to share her discovery just yet. She was still beginning to understand it herself. She had a plan, she would accomplish that first and ask questions later.

Aethelred was in his chambers with Aldhelm, sharing a morning meal and discussing something that they immediately dropped when she entered.

The Lord of Mercia was wearing a robe, bare-chested underneath. His face brightened when he saw her, and he gestured for her to sit.

“Would you care to join us, Wife? It has been some time since we shared a meal.”

“I have no time this morning, Husband.” She spoke with a little condescension as she could manage. “I have much to do today, and have a favor to ask of you first.”

“I am sure I can accommodate whatever you desire,” he replied, eyes shining as he raised a cup to his lips.

Aethelflaed glanced to Aldhelm, whose expression was as opaque as she’d ever seen it.

“I would ask for Lord Aldhelm’s time this morning. We have much to discuss with regards to the burghs.”

“It would be my pleasure, Lady,” Aldhelm replied.

Aethelflaed nodded in acknowledgment and turned back to her husband. “I have one more request as well. My serving woman, Brynn. I have greater need of her as a companion, so I would ask that she be relieved of her other household duties.”

The corner of Aethelred’s mouth quirked up slightly.

“Is that all, or would you like to reassign the captain of the guard as well?”

“That is all,” Aethelflaed replied, seething internally. “They are reasonable enough requests, I don’t expect you should be terribly inconvenienced.”

Her husband continued to smirk but inclined his head in assent.

“Whatever will keep you happy, Wife. These little ventures do seem to amuse you to no end.”

Only days ago he had complimented her on her plans, now he demeaned her publicly.

“Thank you, Lord,” she said, concealing her disdain as best she could. “Lord Aldhelm, I will be in my chambers ready to work when you are able to join me.”

She swept out of the room.

Aldhelm joined her shortly and they continued their discussion of plans for the burghs. He seemed determined not to deviate from that agenda, and so they spoke of nothing but roads and defenses until he was preparing to leave and bring their plan to Aethelred.

“I am glad you have taken to Brynn’s company,” he said, leaning over the desk to collect the papers Aethelflaed had gathered for him. “I had hoped you might find a friend in her.”

“You speak as if you know her.” Aethelflaed caught his eye, and though his smile was pleasant enough she could not help but wonder why Brynn appeared to trust him so implicitly.

“I owe her my life,” Aldhelm said simply. “I was very badly wounded at Gwynedd, where she was taken, and by some good fortune she did not allow me to succumb to my wounds on the journey home.”

That new information was extraordinary in the abstract, but it fit very well with the friend she'd come to know during her time in Mercia. “I do not believe I would have done the same when I was in her position."

Perhaps not an admission she ought to have made, but he did not appear to take offense.

“Not many would, Lady.”

“I wonder if I might ask you a favor on her behalf?”

One of his eyebrows quirked up. “A favor?”

“Her mother is ill,” Aethelflaed continued, standing so that he wasn’t towering over her quite so much. “I’d like to pay for the expense of a healer, but she doesn’t have to know. It’s better if she doesn’t, perhaps.”

“I did not know her mother was ill,” Aldhelm said. “I am sorry to hear that. I will arrange it, of course, Lady.”

His sympathy seemed genuine.

“Thank you, Aldhelm. She may not live long, but I believe she could be in more comfort. Perhaps you could also ensure she has enough food and warm blankets before the weather grows cold again?”

“Of course. It’s a kind gesture, Lady Aethelflaed.”

“It’s selfish, really,” Aethelflaed admitted. “I have few friends here, Lord. I only seek to make myself happy by way of her.”

Aldhelm tipped his head to one side, a curious expression on his face. “Perhaps, Lady. But either way, the effect is the same. I think all affection might be reduced to such ends.”

Aethelflaed frowned. “Perhaps.”

* * *

“I believe I may have understood your advice regarding my husband,” Aethelflaed confided in Brynn a few days later.

The women had taken a walk outside the city together, with the protection of a pair of guards of course.

Brynn glanced sideways at her, brushing back the wisp of a curl that had fallen over her forehead.

“What advice was that, Lady?”

Aethelflaed’s eyes fell to her feet as she replied. “About the power that I hold over him, small pains and pleasures.”

She glanced back up. Brynn was biting her bottom lip, a gentle smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“I am glad you found my advice useful, though I must say I did not expect you to do much with so little direction.”

“Did you desire to give me more detailed instructions?” Aethelflaed laughed.

Brynn laughed too, a slightly husky sound.

“Perhaps, Lady.”

Their eyes met, and Aethelflaed found her heart racing much the way it had when she’d first warmed to Aethelred.

“I do not mean to be impertinent,” Brynn continued, slightly apologetic.

“Impertinence is the least of my worries,” Aethelflaed sighed, glancing back at the city walls.

Brynn followed her gaze, and when Aethelflaed looked back at her companion the wistful expression on her face pulled at her heart.

“I believe you understand me best of anyone I have ever met,” she said, drawing Brynn’s arm through her own. “Certainly better than my husband. He seems to think my endeavors here are merely temporary amusements.”

“I cannot believe he really thinks that, Lady. He may say as much, but he knows as well as I do that you crave more than a quiet life. You might as well be the wife of a common Ealdorman if you are to be resigned to that.”

“You are right, of course, you are right. But he seems to think I should not be interested in politics at all.”

“You’re the daughter of a King, Lady. A great King. Your husband will understand your usefulness in that regard, or he will regret it, I wager.”

“He will certainly regret it,” Aethelflaed agreed. “Sooner or later I will need to visit Winchester or be visited here. If he cannot allow me some manner of influence I will be forced to sour Mercia’s relationship with Wessex. Not, of course, that I would prefer that…”

“I’m sure you will find another way, Aethelflaed.”

It was the first time Brynn had called her by her Christian name, and it startled her.

“My apologies, Lady,” Brynn blushed as she spoke. “I did not mean to offend.”

Aethelflaed realized she was smiling.

“You did not offend. Please, call me Aethelflaed. I have no one else to call me that any longer.”

Brynn’s shoulder bumped against hers.

“I’m sure that won’t be true for long. I do worry that you may not make as many friends if you spend all your time with a servant girl.”

“I don't care for more friends right now. I care to keep an eye on my enemies. Speaking of enemies,” she continued with a sideways glance at Brynn, “Lord Aldhelm told me how you saved his life on the road back from Gwynedd. Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

“I couldn’t let him die before me…I’d seen too much death that day already. And I thought if I endeared myself to a friend of the Lord of Mercia I may find that useful later. He did ensure that I was assigned to your service, which has been a blessing for me.” Brynn paused, turning to face Aethelflaed fully, “I know it was you who sent the healer. I cannot ever repay you, Lady, but please know that your kindness is appreciated.”

“It is nothing you would not have done for me if our positions were reversed,” Aethelflaed replied. “It is still not enough to repay you for your kindness to me.”

Brynn merely smiled and shook her head, unable to argue.

They’d reached the crest of a small hill, and Aethelflaed sat, then lay on her back, trying to let every inch of her that could rest on the warm grass. Brynn was at her side, fingers twined in hers, watching the same cloud drift overhead. Their guards had begun some sort of argument a dozen yards from them, but the wind carried their voices away. The women could have been alone.

“What do you think that cloud looks like?” Brynn asked, pointing to the sky.

Aethelflaed smiled. “My brother and I used to play a game like this as children. I say…a short-legged dog.”

Brynn laughed. “I was going to say a badger.”

“What of that one?”

“Perhaps a Saxon shield?”

Aethelflaed sighed. The feel of the firm earth underneath, Brynn’s hand in hers, the sweetly scented breeze that blew from the east—she rested in a kind of quiet peace so rare and fleeting she wondered if she’d even remember it later.

For that moment, the world was right and she was happy. For that moment, she could have been home in Wessex, or Wales, or anywhere away from Aethelred’s influence. For that moment, she was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI I’m a bit stumped by the next chapter, sorry updates aren’t on schedule right now. I’m posting another Aldflaed series atm but I’ll return to this one when I’ve worked through the plot point I’m stuck on—I’ve got several future chapters written, it’s just a matter of this next one.


	6. Bitter Draught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aethelflaed has found happiness with Brynn, though she knows it cannot last. Aethelred is manageable--to a point. Aldhelm proves himself a friend in times of need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOTS OF WARNINGS for this chapter: continued abusive relationship dynamics with Aethelred/Aethelflaed (dub-con/non-con is mentioned and described, though not in depth), very light smut, alcohol use and abuse, physical violence, reproductive coercion, suicidal ideation (in some detail).
> 
> Sorry this bit took me a month to post! I hope gaps between future chapters will not be so long.

Often when Aethelred came to her chambers now he brought wine. He had not changed his attitude entirely, still caring for his own pleasure far more than hers, but Aethelflaed knew how to manage him more effectively.

Sometimes his brutish nature persisted, but Aethelflaed knew she could push back to counterbalance with more precision than he was capable of, rendering him helpless. The bruises and welts that used to linger on her skin grew more scarce, and the ones that remained she could think of with less displeasure. She was by no means under the illusion that her marriage was happy, but she had come to terms with that reality weeks ago.

Aethelflaed didn’t always take command. Often she was tired or did not care to prolong their time together. Aethelred did not seem to mind, reveling in the unexpected. At the very least, he had not grown bored with her. She wondered what would become of her should he lose interest—perhaps it would be for the best, or perhaps it would prove deadly. The likelihood of either answer seemed to vary from day to day. He certainly had other women in his bed, but none with as much regularity as he visited her. Aethelflaed tried not to think on it much. She knew that some of the serving women were used to being approached by him. And why not? It was, of course, quite a common thing. And he was no more in love with her than she with him, despite all his grand promises when first they’d married.

Aethelred got clumsy when he drank too much—not a unique trait either, but certainly singularly obnoxious to Aethelflaed, who objected to the way he grew lazy and difficult to manage when the wine reached his cock. She had gotten into the habit of taking his wine away, which he seemed to find more entertaining than anything else.

It was quite an effort to get him out of her bed on the nights he indulged, but it was their unspoken agreement, and she would have walked him back to his chambers herself if necessary—fortunately, it never was.

Brynn found great amusement in the consistency with which Aethelflaed forced her husband to vacate her chambers each night. She would wait for the lord to return to his own bed before bringing the contraceptive to Aethelflaed, and he never failed to return there, no matter how late or how drunk.

“Your tenacity is an inspiration to all Saxon women,” she said one evening as she helped Aethelflaed to prepare for bed.

“I suppose that may be the extent of my legacy,” Aethelflaed replied ruefully. Her cheeks were still flushed as she drained the contents of the all-important vial in a single gulp, unable to prevent herself from grimacing. “It’s so bitter, always.”

“Bitterness means it will work.”

Brynn picked up one of the goblets of wine Aethelred had left behind. She sat beside Aethelflaed and took a sip, then moved closer to her and offered her the rest.

Aethelflaed washed the harshness of the tonic from her mouth with the sourness of the wine. She had not yet grown to like the taste of wine either. It bore no good associations for her, save at this very moment, shared with a friend.

“Very kind of Lord Aethelred to bring enough refreshment to share,” Brynn joked as Aethelflaed drained the goblet.

“He is as generous as he is vain,” Aethelflaed rejoined.

Brynn laughed, her dark curls falling into her face. Aethelflaed reached out to brush her hair aside, tucking it behind Brynn’s ear. Her hand lingered by the tender spot near the jawline, her gaze locked on Brynn’s warm brown eyes.

She could not help but wonder what it would be like to share a marital sort of intimacy with a person whom she actually was fond of, a person she trusted. It wasn’t the wine, or mere curiosity, or even loneliness that caused her to wonder. It was that this shared moment, despite the pain and discomfort that surrounded her, was something rare and beautiful that should be savored.

Brynn’s pink lips had fallen open, parted to reveal a row of slightly crooked teeth. Her eyes flicked down to Aethelflaed’s mouth, then back up, a gentle smile slowly overtaking her face.

Aethelflaed was caught in a tide, and she had no desire to deny its pull.

Her pulse raced as she brushed her lips against Brynn’s, bestowing the most gentle kiss. She caught her breath and leaned her forehead against the other woman’s, not daring to look.

“Aethelflaed—“

Aethelflaed drew back slightly, looking into Brynn’s eyes with the hope that she had not taken advantage of her good nature. The other woman was looking back at her so softly, her chin thrust in the air just slightly, a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

Brynn cut her off with a kiss, and Aethelflaed kissed her back, no longer tentative. Her stomach fluttered, not with nervousness but anticipation. They were sitting slightly too far apart on the bed, leaning into each other, but as Brynn’s hand brushed hers where it lay on the coverlet Aethelflaed reached for Brynn’s waist.

Brynn drew her own hands up Aethelflaed’s back, pulling her closer. Their noses bumped as she shifted position, causing both women to break into gentle laughter.

The taste of her mouth, the wine they’d shared, lingered on Aethelflaed’s tongue.

It crossed Aethelflaed’s mind as they broke apart that despite all the times Aethelred had shared her bed, she’d never before been kissed like that. As someone cared for. As someone who was known.

Brynn’s dimples framed the brightest smile, and nothing in the past several months had brought Aethelflaed as much happiness as that moment did.

“Would you like me to stay?” she breathed, her hand dropping from Aethelflaed’s waist to her thigh.

In answer, Aethelflaed kissed her again, running a hand through her curls. They fell back onto the bed tangled up in each other. Their kisses deepened, and Aethelflaed was overcome with the sensations she had become familiar with, but now manifested in excitement and happiness rather than apprehension or relief.

Brynn pressed kisses to her clavicle, and Aethelflaed pulled the hem of Brynn’s linen dress to her waist. The skin below was soft and warm, the curve between her belly and her hip so familiar to Aethelflaed yet so unlike her own.

Aethelflaed gasped as Brynn pulled the shoulder of her shift down, trailing kisses from her breasts down her sternum and pausing at her mound, looking up with eyes that glowed golden in the light of the tapers.

Aethelflaed gave a nod, breathless already, and collapsed back on the bed as Brynn’s tongue began to caress her. She had not realized it was possible to receive such pleasure when she herself was not in control of it.

Later that night Brynn crept away to attend to her mother. Aethelflaed felt her press a kiss to her brow and fell back into a sleep of contentment with a smile on her face.

* * *

Try as she might, Aethelflaed could not completely conceal her good mood at breakfast the next morning.

Even Aethelred noticed, raking his eyes up and down her as she began to eat. “You’re looking very well. Might I inquire as to the cause of your smile?”

Aethelflaed maintained as pleasant an expression as she could, answering, “I merely slept soundly, Lord.”

Aethelred arched an eyebrow, glancing over at Aldhelm (eyes averted, lingering in the corner) before leaning closer to her and whispering, “I too have found our little trysts quite satisfactory of late.”

Aethelflaed forced a brighter smile to hide her repulsion, “I am happy to hear it, Lord.”

He grinned arrogantly before returning his focus to his plate.

Aethelflaed took a bite of bread and glanced up, catching Aldhelm’s eye. He was looking at her with a slightly curious, slightly knowing expression. She dropped her gaze, her face growing warm.

If anyone had guessed the secret reason for her change in outlook, at least it was not her husband.

* * *

The time Aethelflaed spent with Brynn over the next week was restorative. Their quiet moments felt almost stolen to Aethelflaed, who was nagged by the sense she ought not to bask in such happiness. It was not guilt, but a sense of premature sadness, for she knew their joy was not bound to last.

Brynn was happy too, her troubles seeming to vanish when they were together as Aethelflaed’s did. Her mother’s illness remained a burden, but the time she was not at her sickbed, she spent in harmony with Aethelflaed.

But it was not Brynn who joined Aethelflaed one morning to make her ready. It was a middle-aged Saxon serving woman with mousy brown hair named Gytha.

“Good morning, Lady,” she said lightheartedly as she set a tray of food beside the bed. “I have taken over Brynn’s duties for a time.”

“What’s happened?” Aethelflaed asked, her heart beginning to race slightly.

“Her mother died last night, Lady,” Gytha replied, her cheerful countenance growing solemn. “It was a long illness, but there was no saving her in the end.”

Aethelflaed’s heart sank. She had in her foolishness almost forgotten that the loss was inevitable. She clasped her hands together, saying a quiet prayer for the poor woman’s soul. And for Brynn…poor Brynn who was now alone.

“Will you bring me to her?” Aethelflaed asked, trying to keep her voice even. “She’s been so kind to me, and I would like to offer my condolences in person.”

“Of course, Lady,” the servant agreed, clearly bewildered but remaining deferential.

Aethelflaed dressed quickly with Gytha’s help, leaving her hair to fall about her shoulders without a care for her appearance. They moved quickly to the servants’ quarters, Aethelflaed barely noticing how surprised the staff she encountered were by her presence.

The room where Brynn and her mother slept was shared by several more women, but the only servant who was with Brynn jumped to her feet, bowed, and hastened away when Aethelflaed entered. Brynn was sitting against the wall, hunched over and hugging her knees to her chest. On the bed opposite her, a sheet covered the body of her mother.

Aethelflaed suppressed a cry when she saw her. Brynn’s face was lined with tear tracks, but when she looked up at Aethelflaed her eyes were dry. She barely reacted, clearly exhausted from her grief, but reached out a hand. Aethelflaed took it and slipped down onto the floor beside her, wrapping her arms around her. Brynn laid her head on Aethelflaed’s chest, and they sat together in silence.

* * *

It was nearly dark when Aethelflaed made her way back to her chambers. Brynn had finally eaten something and fallen asleep. The other serving woman had returned to sit with her, and Aethelflaed tore herself away knowing that she may have been missed already.

The chill of fall approached in the air, and Aethelflaed shivered slightly. She had not put on a cloak that morning when she left.

She had just entered the palace courtyard when someone clapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her into the shadows beside the gate.

“It is Aldhelm,” he whispered in her ear, and she ceased struggling.

He removed his hand and she turned to face him, watching his eyes dart towards the pathway she’d been walking on. She was too tired to be indignant. It was by no means the worst thing she’d been subjected to in Aylesbury.

“My apologies, Lady, but I must deliver a warning.”

His voice was low and earnest, his face was as serious as she’d ever seen it.

“Your husband has been asking after you,” he continued with a meaningful tilt of his head.

Aethelflaed sighed through clenched teeth. She had been doing her best to forget about Aethelred over the past several hours.

“I would have thought he had plenty of diversions to keep himself occupied.”

“That may be true, but he still has noted your absence.”

At least he did not attempt to deny it.

His gaze flicked between her eyes and her lips, his brow furrowing as he attempted to assess her expression. “I told him you have been at prayer since midday, but that explanation grows more tenuous as the day grows longer.”

“A clever answer,” she conceded. “He would never come to look for me at the church.”

Aldhelm’s face remained grave. She felt his hand still lingering on her elbow, but he pulled back swiftly as if the contact had burned him upon noticing.

“I do not mean to overstep, but is all well?”

“Brynn’s mother has died.”

Aldhelm sighed and dropped his chin. “Of course. I am sorry to hear that.” He glanced towards the courtyard again, eyes sharp for any unwanted company, then back at her. “I will be sure to offer the resources of the household for the burial.”

Aethelflaed flushed slightly, wishing she had thought to suggest that herself. “Thank you, Aldhelm.” She worried her lower lip, recognizing his kindness despite its abrupt delivery. “And thank you for the warning.”

Aldhelm gave her a tight nod. “You ought to hurry. He will be waiting.”

He was right. Aethelred reclined on her bed, his robe laying open over his chest, idly playing with the rings on his fingers.

“I expected such piety from Alfred’s daughter,” he began drolly, “but is not hours at prayer rather excessive?” He sat up, noting the way her hair was slightly disheveled. “And you appear distressed.”

“Not distressed, Lord,” she replied in as light a tone as she could muster. “Merely tired.”

He appeared to believe her, or perhaps he was merely distracted as she undressed before him. She was truly exhausted, she would rather have gone to bed alone, but that was not a choice she had the luxury of making.

Without Brynn’s late night-visit to rely on, Aethelflaed dropped to her knees and hoped her ministrations would be enough to distract him from any other pursuits. Her technique was not refined, but her husband was too far into his cups to notice.

* * *

It was another day before Brynn resumed her duties, during which time Gytha was a fine substitute for most of Aethelflaed’s needs. When Brynn returned the next morning Aethelflaed could have cried with happiness, though of course, she did not. She embraced her friend and held her for a time, and was happy to again provide comfort rather than merely seek it.

“I have a favor to ask of you, My Lady,” Brynn said that day as they took a quick walk around the palace. She was much too weary for a longer excursion.

“Anything,” Aethelflaed replied, bewildered at Brynn’s sudden return to use of her title.

Brynn met her gaze, and her eyes were full of tears. She had been quiet all day, which Aethelflaed had assumed was due to her grief, but now it seemed more weighed on her.

“Brynn, what is it?”

Brynn wiped her eyes hastily. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

Aethelflaed felt her heart sink as if she knew already what favor would be asked.

“I miss my home, Lady. With my mother gone…” her voice broke, and she clasped her hands together so tightly that one of her cracked knuckles began to bleed.

Aethelflaed reached and gently took Brynn’s hands in her own.

“I will be sorry for the loss of your companionship. But I will help you return home.”

Brynn began to cry outright, and Aethelflaed took her in her arms and held her, paying no mind to the guards that stood along the corridor.

* * *

It was Aldhelm, naturally, that she turned to. She had nowhere else to go.

“I need your help, Lord Aldhelm,” Aethelflaed said abruptly as he approached her desk that very day.

“If this is regarding the work near Oxford, I can assure you—“

“It is not,” Aethelflaed continued, then gestured for her servant to leave them.

Curiosity flickered across Aldhelm’s face as he waited for her to speak. It reminded her of the look he had given her at breakfast the other morning.

“I would like to release Brynn from her duties and allow her to return home.”

One brow jumped up, but otherwise his face remained impassive.

“I see no reason for my husband to be aware of this.”

“Of course not, Lady,” he replied.

“You will help me, then? She is dear to me…and I know she is dear to you, of a kind.”

Aldhelm inclined his head in agreement, lips pursed together as he considered his answer.

“I have a man or two I would trust with this task. If you can give me a few days I will have everything arranged.”

Aethelflaed sighed in relief, though she could feel her heart sink within her.

“Thank you, Aldhelm. We will await further word from you.”

“I will also arrange for another servant to take her place. You may find you have less in common with Sable, but I can assure you she is a good woman who will be loyal to you.”

She thanked him, and they spoke of one or two matters related to the business of the day.

“You seem intent on proving me wrong, Lady,” Aldhelm added as he gathered his papers from her desk.

Aethelflaed furrowed her brow. “Whatever about?”

“About the nature of affection,” he replied.

She at first thought he spoke in jest and had half a mind to take offense, but his expression remained thoughtful as he took his leave.

* * *

Brynn and Aethelflaed spent as much of the next few days in each other’s company as possible, biding their time until Aldhelm’s plan was ready. They did not speak much, not wanting to break the peace they enjoyed while alone.

Aethelred joined his wife the second night, and she cursed her misfortune. Fortunately, his visit was quick, and when Brynn rejoined her she was carrying the vial, as usual, but she also carried a cloth in which were wrapped a collection of herbs and dried roots which she laid upon the bed.

“I will teach you how to make the tonic, Lady,” she said, beginning to arrange the contents of the bundle in little piles.

Aethelflaed had nearly forgotten she would be losing her last bit of spousal freedom along with her companion, and she pressed a quick kiss of thanks to Brynn’s cheek as she sat beside her on the bed.

Brynn smiled and began to teach.

Aethelflaed noticed that her husband had left his robe behind only a second before disaster struck. She jumped up from the bed, Brynn following her lead, and pulled a blanket over the collection of herbs as they heard a noise at the door.

It was Aethelred. Of all the times he could have chosen to send someone else in his stead, why not that night?

Brynn inhaled a soft gasp, standing stiff, eyes cast downward. Aethelflaed could not be sure she was breathing at all, eyes locked on her husband.

Aethelred seemed to have forgotten the robe, eyes darting between the two of them. For all her quick wits, Aethelflaed did not know how to manage him in this moment.

She realized too late that the small glass vial had fallen to the ground from Brynn’s lap when she stood. Her attempt to pull it towards her with her foot failed, but her husband’s eyes immediately followed the movement.

Aethelred crouched to pick up the vial, eyes narrowing with suspicion. Then he raised it to his nose and understood. His eyes fixed on Brynn.

“This is yours, servant?”

If Aethelflaed had ever thought her husband intimidating before, it was nothing compared to how he appeared now. Her mouth had gone completely dry, she was unable to keep from shaking.

Aethelred stepped forward, toe to toe with Brynn. She held his gaze defiantly but cowered slightly, making him appear taller than he really was.

“You dare to bring my wife this tonic without my permission?”

His voice was steady, but his eyes were wild in a way Aethelflaed had never seen.

Still trembling, she stepped in front of Brynn, raising her chin to her husband.

“It was my request. You will not harm her.”

Aethelred was nearly pressed against her now, and she could feel the heat from his nostrils as he exhaled, glancing down at her as if she were a mere annoyance.

“Step aside, woman.”

“Please, don’t—“ she began to beg, but Aethelred cast her aside along with the vial.

Aethelflaed jumped back to her feet and grabbed Aethelred’s arm as, to her horror, he struck Brynn with his free hand. Again, he shoved his wife aside, this time so hard her head struck the stone floor when she fell. Ears ringing, a warm trickle of blood running down her temple, she began to crawl towards the other end of the room where her weapon lay.

She could hear Brynn fighting back, but the woman was no match for a trained warrior a full head taller than her. Aethelflaed propped herself up into her elbows and twisted to look towards the struggle, fighting the fear that threatened to freeze her limbs in place. Aethelred’s back was to her, blocking Brynn from view.

Then Brynn’s screams stopped. Breathless with horror, Aethelflaed pushed herself to her feet again and stumbled back towards the two of them, still unarmed.

Aethelred’s hands were around Brynn’s neck; the woman had gone limp. Her eyelids were fluttering shut, and Aethelflaed noted with horror that beneath her eyes spots of blood had appeared beneath the surface of her skin. Aethelred maintained his hold on her throat despite Aethelflaed’s cries that he was killing her.

She was clutching at his tunic, jostling his arm to no avail, when another person burst into the room.

The man threw himself between Aethelred and Brynn, finally breaking Aethelred’s hold on her.

Aethelflaed caught Brynn as she collapsed onto the floor, barely conscious of anything or anyone else as she checked Brynn’s breathing--it was shallow, but she was alive.

Glancing up, she saw it was Aldhelm who had ended the struggle and dragged Aethelred to the other end of the room. Aethelflaed could barely hear them speak as she prayed, waiting for Brynn’s eyes to finally flutter open.

Aethelred stormed out moments later without a word in her direction. Then Aldhelm was kneeling beside them, examining Brynn. With a quiet cry she returned to consciousness and clutched at Aethelflaed. Her eyes were bloodshot and her breath came in gasps.

“You’re alright,” Aethelflaed breathed, “you’re going to be alright.”

It was a broken whisper, more a grasp at hope than anything else.

He could have killed her. If Aldhelm had been even an instant later, Brynn may not have woken up. Aethelflaed would not have been able to overcome him on her own.

Aldhelm said nothing, just pressed a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with shock—or perhaps relief, disgust. How shocked could he possibly be?

Brynn attempted to push herself into a sitting position and promptly collapsed.

“Shhhh, be still,” Aethelflaed whispered, cradling the other woman in her arms. Brynn had begun to cry quietly, and Aethelflaed realized she was crying too.

Her stomach turned as she watched the angry red marks she was so used to seeing on her own body appear on Brynn’s neck. She felt dizzy, sick, listless.

“You’re bleeding,” Brynn whispered, gently reaching for Aethelflaed’s wound. Aethelflaed just caught her hand and brought it to her chest.

She looked to Aldhelm.

“She must leave tonight. She’s not safe here any longer.”

Aldhelm pressed a cloth to her forehead to assess the damage. His jaw was set in a hard line.

“Neither of you are.”

“He won’t kill me, Aldhelm. I’m too valuable to him. But Brynn—“

He removed the cloth, as the bleeding seemed to have stemmed, and met her gaze. “Your husband has instructed me to take care of Brynn.”

A tight, hot feeling rose in Aethelflaed’s chest, but then she understood. He had not changed his mind about his promise, but time was no longer on their side.

Aethelflaed felt herself growing a little faint. Aldhelm helped lift Brynn out of her arms. She seemed a little stronger, the color returning to her face. Aethelflaed focused on that as she tried to keep her breath from becoming too erratic.

“We haven't much time,” Aldhelm said to Brynn gently, then turned to Aethelflaed. “Lady…”

His voice caught, he swallowed but could not speak. Aethelflaed could not allow him to say what he meant to. She shook her head, though her eyes filled with tears again. “Go. Take her and go.” Her eyes fell back to Brynn, and she saw how thin her dress was. “There’s a cloak lined with fur in the chest over there, please give it to her.”

Aldhelm obeyed as Brynn reached for Aethelflaed.

“Come with me,” she whispered, lips brushing Aethelflaed’s ear.

The tears fell hot and fast now, but Aethelflaed merely shook her head. “I cannot. I cannot. I’m sorry.”

They exchanged one final kiss, the salt of their tears mingling, and then as if in a trance, Aethelflaed released Brynn to Aldhelm. He helped her up and draped the cloak over her shoulders. Brynn gave her a weak smile and briefly squeezed her hand, and then she was gone.

Aethelflaed remained on the floor, head pounding, until she could summon the strength to crawl into bed.

The woman named Sable found her some time later, presumably at Aldhelm’s request, and gently cleaned the wound on her head but said nothing. She appeared as fearful as she was sympathetic.

* * *

Aethelflaed did not see her husband the next day, nor did she care to inquire about his whereabouts. She did not know where Aldhelm had taken Brynn, nor when he would return.

The next time Aethelred visited her they did not speak. He brought no wine, there was no attempt at civility. She would not meet his eyes, so he turned her on the bed and took her in silence.

There was a hunting knife in her room, a gift from her husband in their first days of marriage. She drew it out the morning after Brynn had gone, wondering what it would feel like to end her life. Perhaps she would slit her wrists, waiting for her arms to go numb first, then for the life to slowly drain from her body.

Or perhaps she’d choose the more painful way, stabbing herself in the belly, letting the bed soak up her blood until she was gone, to be found by her husband when he came to rape her next.

Or maybe she’d turn the knife on him. Hide it in her bed, waiting for the opportune moment, when his defenses were lowest, to slit his throat. She imagined tying him up, drawing the blade up his body from navel to sternum, watching his eyes grow wide as she rode him one last time, then with one swift movement cutting beneath his jaw, knowing her face would be the last thing he’d see as he died with the knowledge that his cruelty had been repaid, if only in part.

The thought of suicide brought her solace for a time, but after several days had passed she knew she could not end her own life. She would not let him take that from her, after everything else he’d taken.

She knew she could not kill him either—not that way. She would replay the fantasy of turning his own gift against him, but it was not a plan, it was merely a temporary escape.

He did not say it, but Aethelflaed knew that her husband wished to make her pregnant. She knew it would be expected of her sooner or later, but as a kind of revenge upon discovering her contraceptive measures the cruelty doubled. That she had the ingredients for a contraceptive but no idea how to combine them only served to cast her despair into starker relief. And even if she could divine the recipe, she knew that Aethelred would discover her attempts if she did not fall pregnant soon. So she remained numb to it all. To be numb was easier than to feel the way that she did.

It was several days before she saw Aldhelm again. He’d come to find her as she took her first walk since Brynn had left, and she was surprised to feel her pulse quicken when she recognized him from her perch on the city walls. Concern for Brynn had been much on her mind since their parting, but she'd also feared that Aldhelm would be discovered.

He appeared relieved to see her as well. It was a welcome change from the contempt Aethelred had for her or the warm but empty contact with Sable and the other servants.

“Is Brynn—“

“She’s safe,” Aldhelm nodded, placing a hand on her back as he guided her to a more discrete portion of the ramparts. “I rode with her halfway to the Welsh border. She has a trusted member of the guard to bring her the rest of the way.”

Tears of relief pricked at Aethelflaed’s eyes. As sorry as she was to be alone, it was a comfort to know Brynn was safe.

“Your wound—“ his jawline had gone hard again.

“It will heal,” she replied stiffly.

“Why didn’t you go with her?”

Aldhelm was staring out over the walls as if he had no vested interest in her answer.

“She’s safer without me. And my husband would discern you had helped me, would he not?”

He was studying her again with that impossibly calculated expression of his. Aethelflaed was surprised to see the particular shade of green his eyes caught in the sunlight. She’d never noticed the color of his eyes before.

“Perhaps he would. But should you remain here—“

“Where am I to go?” Aethelflaed asked, her voice quiet but laced with desperation. “I cannot remarry, I would be sent to an abbey to live out my days alone.”

He appeared humbled by her answer, bowing his head.

“You warned me from the start it would do me no good to escape, Aldhelm. My husband is not the man I had hoped, but I thought my leash would lengthen if I could make him happy. It has not.”

Aldhelm did not reply at first, his gaze fixed again on the hills beyond the city. When he did speak, his voice was so low she could hardly hear it and his words lacked their usual eloquence.

“I am sorry…I regret not preventing this situation from occurring. After all that you..I did not think…I had hoped he would agree you deserve better.”

“All women deserve better, Lord,” Aethelflaed replied bitterly. “You cannot claim regret if you still serve my husband.”

“I should think that my recent actions prove I do not.”

He was looking at her now with an intensity she found almost unsettling.

“You have behaved as a friend, I admit. But you may now be my only friend in all of Mercia.” Aethelflaed clenched her fists as she spoke, her fingernails digging into her palms. She did not know how else to keep her voice from breaking. “I feel as if I am on the edge of a precipice. I have no one to hold me back, no one to catch me if I slip, no one to prevent me jumping.”

“Lady Aethelflaed—”

“There is nothing that you can say to change my feelings, Aldhelm.”

“That may be. But I promised Brynn I would keep you safe, and I will repeat that promise to you now. You matter to Mercia, Lady. That is where my loyalty lies, not with your husband. I cannot--will not--allow you to be taken from us in any fashion.”

She felt her heart begin to race again, but all that she could do was shake her head in reply.

They stood in silence, the turmoil in Aethelflaed's breast growing more still as the sunlight faded. Aldhelm accompanied her inside prior to the evening meal, which Aethelflaed opted to enjoy alone in her chambers. Her husband did not join her that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....I realized a while back this is probably going to be longer than 12 chapters, but I'm not sure how much longer, so I won't change that number yet haha. Anyway, I'd love to know if you're enjoying the fic, and happy new year!


	7. Inhibitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aethelflaed, still reeling from the loss of Brynn, rides with Aldhelm to fight a group of marauding Danes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: continued suicidal thoughts (not graphic), battle scene (not graphic), continued dub-con/hate sex with Aethelred (fairly graphic--end of chapter).

It was nearly winter. The days had grown short, and Aethelflaed found herself mourning the nights she spent alone after Aethelred left her. She missed Brynn dearly.

Though she could not be free of him entirely, outside her bedchamber she avoided her husband as much as she could. The price she paid was to be starved for information regarding goings-on in the other kingdoms. It was difficult for her to have next to no knowledge of anything outside the walls of Aylesbury, but even the buffer Aldhelm provided was not enough to tempt Aethelflaed into her husband’s presence unasked.

Sable and Aldhelm both offered information to her as they were able—Sable about Aethelred’s mood and activities, never in more detail than necessary, and Aldhelm about any news from Wessex. There were always battles to be fought, skirmishes with the Danes here and there, tensions among the other Saxon lords to be addressed, but it seemed that her home remained strong under her father’s leadership, and that was a great solace.

Aldhelm also helped her carry on with the work they had been doing, which provided some sense of normalcy. She had in recent weeks begun to see Aldhelm differently. Initially, she had considered him to be merely an extension of her husband. But there was certainly more to him than met the eye. Aethelflaed could not help but wonder how he had been able to manage Aethelred for so long and with such consistent results. It must have taken all of his energy for years. She now saw that the cleverness and strategy she had initially ascribed to Aethelred were better credited to Aldhelm. Aethelred had ambition, to be sure. She knew that he resented her on behalf of her father, that he desired to be held in as high esteem as Alfred. But without Aldhelm’s aid, she wondered if his ambition would have ever set so high a goal. She could not be sure, but she had a sense that Aldhelm himself wondered the same, and perhaps regretted the part he’d played in Aethelred’s ascension. Perhaps it was a foolish thought. But he had proven himself to be trustworthy, and Aethelflaed had a suspicion his calculated exterior might conceal some type of good heart as well.

She had grown curious about his life previous to his mentorship of Aethelred—he never spoke of it. Upon reflection, she realized he had never volunteered personal information, so she decided to probe one day as they worked.

“Are you not married, Lord?”

Aldhelm appeared slightly taken off balance by her question, the faintest smile hovering on his lips.

“I was, several years ago.” He paused, cleaning his pen with a scrap of cloth, his expression turning sober. “She died of a fever soon after we married.”

Aethelflaed felt a twinge of regret, though her interest grew. “I am sorry. Did you love her very dearly?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” Aldhelm replied. “She was a kind woman, and it was expected we would marry, but there was no great passion between us.”

“You did not loathe her, however,” Aethelflaed added, as a point of clarification.

One eyebrow jumped up in that way of his, denoting either amusement or surprise. “No, Lady.”

“I cannot fathom a marriage based in cool affection. It sounds refreshing.”

Aldhelm allowed himself a chuckle now, his usually sharp gaze easing into something approaching fondness.

“You’ve never remarried?” Aethelflaed felt compelled to ask.

His gaze returned to the desk as he dipped his pen into the inkwell. “I have not.”

“Might I ask why?”

He cocked his head, eyes slightly narrowed as he turned to face her again, though his expression remained amiable.

“I ask because it is unusual for a man of your station not to care for producing an heir.” She could not deny she thought of Aethelred as she spoke, and perhaps it was that which caused the color to rise in her cheeks.

“My care is for the future of Mercia now, Lady, not my own name.”

“You don’t find yourself lonely?” she blurted out, then felt herself blush even deeper.

“There are…ways of finding companionship outside the marital bed,” he replied delicately, mouth pulling in amusement.

“Of course, I am aware of that, Aldhelm,” Aethelflaed snapped, fighting her embarrassment.

He bowed his head, then caught her eye, and she could not help but laugh.

“I do not mean to pry, Aldhelm. I apologize if I have offended.”

“You have not, Lady. I am flattered to be thought of at all.” He seemed to want to say something further, but then decided against it, and the conversation turned to less personal matters.

* * *

Tensions with the Danes peaked in early winter. There had been occasional raids all along the border of Danelaw for months, rumored to be led a troublesome rogue warrior called Haesten. Hundreds of Mercian villagers had been forced to relocate, many fleeing all the way to Aylesbury to beg Lord Aethelred’s protection. The outer settlements had no defenses, and Aethelred seemed of two minds as to whether he ought to provide any. On the one hand, it clearly irritated him to have Mercia’s standing among the other kingdoms threatened this way. But on the other, he did not seem to find investing the resources in defeating these enemies worth it. He sent small armies out from time to time, but it was not enough to deter the raiders.

Then, word reached him that a larger army had amassed near the monastery at Lichfield. Some had come from the raiding parties, some from armies new to the area. Reports indicated that up to three hundred men were camped in one place, clearly taunting Aethelred’s authority.

Aethelflaed heard whispers of the gathering storm flying about the palace and finally forced Sable to tell her what she knew. It was far worse to have found out that way.

Aethelred was furious, of course, but Sable said he would not ride out and lead the army himself. Instead, he would send enough men to make damage, but not to drive the Danes out permanently. It was a horrible plan. It would make Mercia look weak and Aethelred himself look foolish. Aethelflaed could not conceive of a reason he would respond this way, nor how his advisors could allow it. If they would not speak, she would have to. The future of Mercia and the other Saxon kingdoms was at stake.

Aethelflaed marched towards her husband’s chambers, rage welling up within her. She made no attempt to hide her feelings as she entered, not caring who or what she would find.

Fortunately, Aethelred did not have another woman with him. He was drinking a glass of wine, probably not his first that day, and wearing a sour expression. The room was empty other than Aldhelm, and the two men were apparently in the midst of a rather heated discussion. Aldhelm abruptly stopped speaking the moment he saw her.

Her husband looked at her archly, waiting for her to explain her presence. Aethelflaed promptly filled the empty space.

“You cannot be serious, Lord. I have heard that you intend to dispatch only a hundred men to Lichfield, and you will not go to lead them? Do you care so little for the well being of your own people?”

“I agree, Lady,” Aldhelm interjected, “I have asked him to double the size of the army at least.”

Aethelred shot an angry look towards Aldhelm and pursed his lips, then turned back to Aethelflaed with a dramatic sigh, apparently tired of his wife’s presence already.

“And what would you advise, with your great military experience?” he asked dryly.

“I may not be a seasoned soldier,” Aethelflaed said, “but even I know that it is madness to send your army with no hope of prevailing. Why bother sending soldiers at all, if you send them to certain death?”

Aethelred cocked an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “I will send another hundred men, Lady, should you agree to join them.”

“I should be proud to,” Aethelflaed shot back. She had not expected him to make such an offer, but she found herself agreeing before she had a chance to think it through.

Her heart was pounding in her throat, she felt herself grow a little faint, but as she stared into Aethelred’s eyes she felt that perhaps now, finally, she saw him as he truly was—a petty, foolish, loathsome man.

“My lord, this cannot be,” Aldhelm was saying. “I would ask you to consider whether you wish to send your wife into the midst of battle without your protection.”

“She may have yours, Aldhelm,” said Aethelred drolly, taking a sip of his wine. “I would trust you with her life as much as my own.”

“My lord, I must object once more—“

“You have the men you requested, Aldhelm, and a queen besides. You will not demand more than I can give.”

Aethelflaed clenched her jaw, willing herself to remain as calm as she could. Her mind flashed back to her early days in Aylesbury—if only she had known then what she knew now. Aldhelm was shaking his head, beginning to argue again, but Aethelred looked only to her, his mouth fixed in a hard line, no spark of anger or pride behind his eyes, only pure focused hatred.

“You may wish for my death, Lord,” Aethelflaed said, raising her chin to him, “but unlike you, I am not a coward. I will fight in your stead.”

She swept out of the room. When outside she heard the argument between the two men resume.

“My lord, I must advise you against this course of action. It is foolish and may endanger our standing with Wessex. If she is injured, or worse—”

“If she dies or lives, I care not. I will not be beholden to Alfred for any reason.”

What was most shocking was how little it shocked her. She was slightly queasy, but the feeling that coursed through her was more akin to happiness than despair. Perhaps she wouldn’t survive the week. But at least she’d freed herself entirely of the delusion her husband could care for her, now she could be honest with herself. That would be easier, whether she was to meet her end in the coming days or not.

The trunk of her things from Winchester still sat in the corner of her room. She’d worn every garment within many times, taking comfort in the familiar fabrics. At the bottom lay her leather armor, having rested undisturbed for months.

Aethelflaed laid it out on the bed, buffing a small scratch in the shoulder with the hem of her dress. It had not seen battle. She traced the lines of the stitching gently with her finger, thinking of her father and mother, her brother, of Uhtred. She hoped they would be proud of her.

There was a knock at the door—Aldhelm.

“May I speak, Lady?”

She obliged, and he stalked into the room with one hand clenched at his side, the other resting on his sword hilt.

“I cannot advise you to join the party tomorrow, Lady Aethelflaed.” He spoke in a deliberate manner, but his measured tone barely concealed the underlying anger. “I do not believe Lord Aethelred truly wishes it.”

“I heard him, Aldhelm. He does not care if I live or die. You cannot pretend he does.”

Aldhelm shook his head. “He cannot mean that in truth. He is simply in a mood. I must beg you to stay here.”

“I cannot. I will not.”

A harsh laugh escaped him, but his brow was knit in frustration. “This is folly, Lady.”

She was surprised he pushed back so firmly. It seemed clear neither of them had a choice. “It is not my decision, Aldhelm.”

“I swore…that is to say, I cannot guarantee your safety in battle.”

“You cannot guarantee my safety here, either, if you go to Lichfield and my husband does not.”

He didn’t have an answer for that, merely gritted his teeth.

“We have both been ordered to battle, Aldhelm. You cannot pretend he cares more for me than he does for you.”

“Perhaps not, but—“ he stopped speaking abruptly, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if in prayer. “He may not have affection for you, Lady, but even he knows how foolish it is for him to send you into harm’s way.”

“He may know, but he does not care. And now,” she added dully, “You must take your leave. I’m sure you have many plans to make before tomorrow.”

Aldhelm met her eyes, and she saw he was resigned. “You will need mail if you are to ride out with us. I will have some sent.”

She nodded, and he bowed and left her.

Aethelflaed saw no one else that evening save for Sable, who brought her a tray of supper and left her alone with her thoughts.

She dreamed of the marshes that night, the long days in her childhood she’d spent with her parents in exile, and of Brynn’s face.

* * *

Sable helped Aethelflaed to dress the next morning, laying the mail over her head before cinching the leather over it. It was heavy and awkward but she knew it would be worse to go unprotected.

Aethelred did not see them off in the courtyard. The captain of Aethelred’s guard, a tall man with a sullen pretty face named Eardwulf, was there in his stead, relaying some last points of strategy to Aldhelm on behalf of his lord.

Aldhelm avoided her eye at first, and she wondered if he regretted betraying his anger to her yesterday. They and a few others were on horseback, the rest of the men on foot. They began to march towards Lichfield before the sun came up, in the dew and silence. She was reminded of the journey that had brought her there, wondering if this time finally she would meet her death at the end. The thought she might die brought a disconcerting amount of relief.

“Do you expect my husband will be terribly displeased to see me alive, should I survive?” Aethelflaed asked Aldhelm as the sun finally rose.

The two of them were separate enough from the rest that she did not think they would be overheard, not that she cared much.

“I do not know, Lady. He may be more displeased to see me alive.” Aldhelm had not seemed surprised by her question, continuing to stare at the road ahead.

“You seem to have fallen out of favor with him of late.”

“He has been relying on Eardwulf more in recent weeks, that is all I am sure of.”

“You do not trust Eardwulf?”

“I trust very few people, Lady. But I know he is quite desperate to regain his family’s honor. It was lost in the strife when Aethelred gained the throne. I do not know if he will be lucky enough to succeed.”

“I do not trust him either.” Aethelflaed had been sure to give him a wide berth since his appointment several weeks ago. “I did not know of his family struggles…he may not mean ill, but desperate people do desperate things.”

“Some do. Some are simply cruel.” He looked to her, and his meaning was plain.

Aethelflaed glanced back to watch the army snake along behind them, marching toward near-certain defeat. Perhaps this was the way out she’d been waiting for. No need to take her own life, or her husband’s. God would choose for her. 

“We may both meet our ends tomorrow, Aldhelm, so I'm glad it will be as friends—friends of a strange kind, perhaps, but friends nonetheless.”

Aldhelm nearly smiled. “Friends, indeed.”

They settled back into silence for the remainder of the journey.

Aethelflaed’s mail was heavy and her armor chafed a little, having been barely broken in during the few times she’d worn it during sparring matches. Before they’d reached their destination she was sore and tired and wishing for the battle to be over before it had begun.

They made camp before nightfall, intending to travel the rest of the way the next morning. The men camped around fires under the night sky, the only tent was for her. The night watch began, and the camp fell silent. After having awkwardly removed her mail herself, Aethelflaed tried to sleep but it was no use. She tossed and turned, imagining the Danes overtaking their army as they slept. She prayed she would not be recognized—she’d rather be killed than taken as another man’s prisoner.

Finally, she gave up the charade and left her bed, dressing (which was again a struggle) and walking out in the camp. Mist hung thick on the grass, the sun had not yet risen so the sky was a dark blue color. Her head was swimming with thoughts she could not put into words. She sat by one of the dying fires and waited. One of the men offered her bread, but she could barely eat from nervousness.

“One last chance to stay behind, Lady.”

Aldhelm had taken a seat beside her.

“No. I will do my duty today, same as you, Aldhelm.”

He didn’t reply, just offered her a sip of water.

They were on their way with the dawn.

It was several more hours ride to Lichfield and Aethelflaed was exhausted from the day before in addition to a poor night’s sleep. She saw the shape of the monastery appear out as the light grew, dark smoke lingering overhead, and wondered where the enemy was waiting. Aldhelm’s scouts had not been sure from where they would make their attack.

She tried not to allow her mind to drift, knowing she would need her wits about her if she was to survive even a minute in battle. But when she laid eyes upon the Danish army the adrenaline coursing through her made her forget all else. She had never seen a Danish army before. Their battle cries made her blood run cold in a way she could not have anticipated. There certainly must be more than three hundred of them.

They were waiting east of the monastery, in a long line that stretched so far to either side Aethelflaed was sure she couldn't see the end. Their silhouettes, swords and shields, were cast into stark relief before a huge line of fire. It appeared to have been a field of crops that had been set ablaze. If it was intended to intimidate them, it appeared to work. Small murmurs broke out amongst the Mercians, and Aethelflaed turned to Aldhelm.

He’d dismounted already and was marshaling the men. They were to stand ready immediately, with the archers hanging back just out of range. The sun had reached its peak and the light glinted off the spearheads of the enemy army.

There would be no attempt at peace without bloodshed. Combat was the only option, the battle would be settled that day.

Had they brought more men, Aethelflaed would have been able to remain on horseback, set back from the fight with a contingent of guards. As it was, every soldier was needed on the field so rather than risk being taken alone she stood in the middle of their ranks, Aldhelm at her side. She’d sparred with her brother and Steapa dozens of times, but this…this was a far cry from that.

The Danes had formed their shield wall and began to march forward. Aldhelm glanced back at Aethelflaed before giving his command. She nodded in assent, hoping he did not see how wildly her hands were shaking. They began their advance.

The next moment seemed to last a lifetime, then the clash was more terrible and confusing than she could have ever imagined. The smell alone was overwhelming—close-packed bodies, smoke and blood. She was shoulder to shoulder with Aldhelm and another soldier, then the other was picked off. An enemy arrow narrowly missed her, and by some luck she managed to disarm and then kill a Dane. The feel of her sword piercing his body sent her stomach turning, but she had to move quickly to stay on her feet, to stay alive. Aldhelm was still beside her, fighting a large Dane with wild eyes. A Saxon arrow struck, and the Dane was down. Another took his place.

She could not tell who was winning. Saxons fell on either side of her and Danes as well. The glare off a sword temporarily blinded her and she stumbled and gasped, reeling from a blow that splintered her shield. Catching herself with her hands as she fell, she turned and held her sword upright to defend herself. Almost without thought, she pierced through the belly of a Dane who reached over her. She rolled just in time to prevent being pinned by him, but lost hold of her sword and could not recover it. Another Dane lumbered into view. He was slighter, his face was painted with dark lines so that his eyes appeared devilish. He raised an axe and Aethelflaed raised her arms in a cross to catch the blow, but was saved at the last second by Aldhelm’s sword. Sweat dripped into her eyes, she couldn't see. She grasped for the knife in her belt, but a shadow fell, the noise of the fighting all around her reached a fever pitch and then the world went dark and silent.

When she returned to herself, she found she was lying beside a crush of bodies. There was blood on her hands, but it did not appear to be hers.

“Are you hurt?”

It was Aldhelm, breathless and hot, extending a hand. He did not seem to have strayed far throughout the entire ordeal.

Aethelflaed was not injured that she could tell. Though her shield arm ached it was not broken. Shaking slightly, she rose to her feet with his help.

She could not believe her eyes. The field was clear. The remaining Danes had retreated, and by some good fortune the living Mercians far outnumbered the dead.

“What miracle is this?”

“I know not, Lady,” Aldhelm panted, glancing back towards the abandoned monastery. “I don’t care to linger and find out. We should leave this place.”

He released her arm gently and went to speak with the rest of the men. They would return to camp, nurse the wounded, then leave before morning.

* * *

She noticed the blood when he dismounted at the camp, wincing with pain as his right hand wandered to his left shoulder. He pulled his hand away, and it was stained dark red.

“You’re wounded.”

His eyes flicked down, and she saw his eyebrows twitch in surprise. “Apparently. I’ll survive.”

Even as he spoke, she saw how pale he’d grown, hair clinging to the sweat on his brow.

“Perhaps, but that should be cleaned now…come with me.”

“Lady—“

“That’s an order.”

He did not argue. Aethelflaed asked for fresh water and cloth and let him to her tent.

“Sit.”

She gestured to the bed, accepting the supplies a young man brought her before ducking out.

Aldhelm lowered himself gingerly onto the bed, careful not to stain the linens with his bloody hand.

Aethelflaed helped him out of his mail, lifting it off him gently as she could—no easy task, it was larger and heavier than her own. His tunic was already torn where he’d been injured, so she ripped it out of the way exposing the skin from his shoulder to his collarbone. The wound was not as bad as she’d feared, once she’d wiped most of the blood away she could tell it wasn’t terribly deep. It looked to have been made by a very small blade.

Aldhelm winced slightly as she put a damp rag to his skin.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. She had hoped her touch was lighter.

He let out a strange, strangled laugh. “It is I who should be apologizing.”

“I’m not the one bleeding, Aldhelm,” Aethelflaed replied, changing the bloody cloth in her hand for a fresh one.

“Not this time, no.”

She knew he was thinking of that night with Brynn, and a twinge of melancholy turned within her. She secured the bandage around his shoulder, pulling it tight as softly as she could.

The feel of his breath on her skin made her heart race as she became aware how close her face was to his. She pulled back slightly, moving from a crouching position to sit beside him.

Her hands had fallen to his knees, and he caught them, running a calloused thumb gently over the bruise blooming on her knuckles.

“You fought well today,” he murmured.

It was not quite true, but she understood his meaning.

She wanted to thank him for staying by her side, to tell him she was happier to be alive than she had expected, to tell him that she shared his disillusionment with her husband, but she could say none of those things, so instead she merely replied, “I count myself fortunate to have survived at all.”

His fingers flexed to tighten around hers as if involuntarily. The silence between them was punctuated by only their breathing, almost in sync. She hardly dared to meet his eyes.

“Lady Aethelflaed—“

She finally looked up, and the warmth in his gaze startled her.

“You must forgive me,” he murmured, though he did not release her hands.

She breathed a laugh in reply.

“You have nothing to apologize for other than having saved my life, Aldhelm—which you will be free to do when we return to Aylesbury.”

His mouth twitched in response, and she found herself biting her lip to keep from saying or doing something she’d regret.

“We will leave at first light,” he said, in answer to a question she had not asked, and pressed her hands gently as he stood. “I should confer with the men and check on the casualties.”

She made as if to follow him, but he shook his head.

“You should rest, Lady. I’ll have someone bring food.”

“Thank you, Aldhelm.”

She was, in truth, feeling more overwhelmed in the aftermath of her first battle than anything else and would be grateful for the peace.

He ducked his head in a bow, then was gone.

She finally slept that night, exhaustion pushing the crush of confusing emotions to the back of her mind. 

* * *

The next day was overcast and foggy, and a light rain began to fall after only a few hours traveling. By the time they reached Aylesbury, Aethelflaed was nearly soaked to the skin, her hair clinging to her neck and her hands chapped and raw. She couldn't help but think Aldhelm was glad they were both too preoccupied with the weather to talk.

She nearly cried with happiness to see the lights of the city as they came near. The men dispersed once inside and Aldhelm followed her into the palace where they were met by servants with cloths to help them dry.

Sable was among them, face pale with worry.

“My lady, they told me you had gone with the men—“

“I am well, Sable.” Aethelflaed was touched by her concern. The others seemed relieved to see her and Aldhelm alive as well.

“Lord Aethelred has asked to see you upon your return.” Sable looked past Aethelflaed’s shoulder as she pressed water from her braid. “You as well, Lord.”

Aldhelm’s face turned grave. “Very well.”

Aethelflaed squeezed Sable’s hand and followed Aldhelm into Aethelred’s chambers, passing Eardwulf on the way—he did not acknowledge them.

Aethelred was dining alone, though two additional places had been set at the table, presumably just vacated by Eardwulf and one of Aethelred’s mistresses.

A slight shock registered on his face to see them both alive. “So you have sent the Danes packing, have you?”

“We were victorious, Lord,” Aldhelm replied.

Aethelred huffed a disbelieving laugh and drained the goblet of wine before him, then filled it again. “And my little wife? She was…” Aethelred lingered over this next word, “useful to you?”

Aldhelm’s jaw twitched. “She fought very bravely, Lord.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, husband, with my still being alive,” Aethelflaed said, “but I would like to rest. We have had quite a long day. I would hope you will thank Lord Aldhelm, and all the men who today defended Mercia with their lives.”

Aethelred pursed his lips, eyes flicking between the two of them with amusement.

“I will take that under advisement, but I have not dismissed you, Lady.”

“My lord—“ Aldhelm interjected.

“You may go.”

Aldhelm hesitated, waiting for some sign from Aethelflaed.

“You may go,” Aethelred repeated more loudly, with growing irritation.

“Thank you, Aldhelm,” Aethelflaed said softly, and he was gone.

Aethelred gestured to the seat next to him, and she sat, her anger growing as she braced herself for what was to come next.

“My lord, I really am very tired and would like to wash.”

He continued eating as if he had not heard her. Her exhaustion could have overcome her if her heart had not been racing quickly as it had when she’d seen the Danish army. 

After he’d finished his meal, along with another glass of wine, Aethelred finally spoke.

“This has been quite the expected turn of events.” He rose from his seat, walking to stand behind her. “I suppose you are quite proud of yourself.”

She winced as his fingers brushed her collarbone and he leaned forward to speak into her ear.

“You appear to have fooled Aldhelm with this little stunt, but do not deceive yourself into thinking the rest of Mercia will be so easily persuaded of your good intentions.”

“I do not know what you mean, Lord.”

“I believe you have ambitions, but I do not believe you have the interest of anyone but Wessex at heart.”

“I have just risked my life to protect Mercia and still you doubt me?” she laughed, incredulous.

His hands rested on her shoulders and he leaned forward. She could feel his breath on her neck, and something within her stirred.

“I do not like you in this getup. I do not care for you to wear it again.”

“My lord, I will remind you that it was your idea for me to join the party.”

“It was, but now that you have survived I have other plans for you.”

Aethelflaed clenched her jaw. It was nearly impossible not to shudder as his lips grazed her ear, but she could feel herself growing warmer despite how much disgust she harbored for him. “I had thought you had better companions of late, my lord.”

He laughed, a harsh and haughty sound. “I do, that is true, but none that can bear me a child in wedlock.”

Of course. It was astonishing that it had taken him this long to demand it outright.

He traced his finger along her neck, then abruptly pulled her from her seat. One swift motion and he’d torn her trousers at the waist, pulling them lower on her hips.

Acting from instinct, she drew the knife from her waist and held it to his throat. They were both frozen in place for what seemed like an age, his eyes locked on hers, blazing with anger mixed with excitement. His lips were parted slightly, and try as she might she could not keep her eyes from wandering there. His mouth curved into a smile, and she felt another twinge between her legs. 

He was pressed against her, his breath shallow as her own. Then he moved her hand so the knife was no longer pointed towards him and twisted her wrist in a single motion. She dropped the weapon, it fell with a clang against the stone floor. 

Aethelflaed was unprotected now, but she didn’t care any longer. She could feel his cock throbbing through the thin layers of clothing that separated them. Loathsome man that he was, she would be satisfied today, no exhaustion or rage would get the better of her.

“You’ve become almost interesting of late, wife,” he whispered into her neck, sliding a hand down her body.

She moaned as he slipped a finger into her.

“And so wet. Have you been wanting me, dear?”

She pulled him towards him, no space left between them, and kissed him—angry, harsh. She pulled his lower lip between her teeth and bit. He half laughed, half moaned, and lifted her onto the table, so she was sitting with her legs wrapped around him.

Her breasts were protected from his rough hands by the armor she still wore, so instead he grasped her ass, roving as far up her back as he could as he entered her.

There was no pain, and the sensation of his cock sliding into her sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine.

When he was in the right position, she dug her nails into his neck and begged.

She could hear the sneer in his voice as he answered, “What a good little wife you are to ask so nicely. I will reward you.”

His fingers entered her again, drawing tight circles against her and sending shudders through her, intermittent but coming closer and harder and he continued. He appeared to have learned a thing or two, though she did not care to know how. When he finished his face pressed into her neck and she could almost forget how much she wanted him dead.

She had never been quite so exposed, but somehow had no room in her mind for the thought that they might have been interrupted.

He was flushed, looking over at her archly as he adjusted his robe and smoothed his hair. “If I didn’t know any better I would say you enjoyed that.”

Aethelflaed let out a low, hollow laugh. “Be careful, I won’t drop the knife next time.”

He chuckled, running a hand over her hair, still wet with rain, and resting it at the base of her neck.

She could feel hate coursing through her body. It may have been mixed with some release, some pleasure, but she loathed him still. He knew it, too. He soaked it in.

“To think, only a few months ago you were pure as snow.” He spread his fingers over the leather that protected her stomach, never breaking eye contact. She arched her chin, and he leaned closer, whispering in her ear.

“You amuse me enough for now, but if you are not with child soon I am afraid I will have no other use for you.”

Then he left her, half-naked and breathing heavily, on the banquet table.

She collected herself enough to stumble back to her room, grateful that the way was empty.

In her room, Sable had a sponge and bowl of warm water for her to wash. She offered Aethelflaed a bowl of food, and Aethelflaed ate ravenously. Sable helped her out of her armor and took the trousers to repair, saying nothing of the tear or stains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, continuing on the theme of my end note from last chapter, I've decided I'm going to split this fic into two fics. The end of part 1 (this fic) will be somewhat bittersweet for our faves, and the end of part 2 (the next fic in this series) could go one of several ways--I'm still trying to decide exactly how it's going to end. I just wanted to throw a warning up now. To quote WildWren, this fic is writing me more than I am writing it at this point.


	8. Holly Boughs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercia rides to the aid of Wessex. Christmas Day, as her husband's threat hangs over her, Aethelflaed turns to Aldhelm with an unusual request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I am excited about this update, I hope you all enjoy! We're finally really getting into the Aldflaed of it all. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting, special shouts out to WildWren for their constant support and easilydistractedbyfanfic (who I think gave me the original idea for what we're about to get into in the next few chapters).
> 
> Just a reminder that I have decided to split this AU into 2 fics, SWSP is Book One, which will be 14 or 15 chapters. Book Two is still untitled and given how much re-plotting I have done for Book One, still un-plotted in large part. Since I'm splitting the story up, I have removed the Major Character Death tag, that won't apply til Book Two. I am excited to share the rest of SWSP with y'all, and Book Two as well--I will be featuring some Aldhelm POV in the next fic!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: continued emotional abuse, mentioned physical abuse and sexual coercion, discussion of infertility, alohol use.

Though her husband did not repeat his threat in words, he did everything in his power to remind Aethelflaed that she had a single use to him, and a single use only. If she spoke of her aspirations for Mercia or dared to comment on his own ambitions Aethelred would laugh outright or turn her away. And his physical attentions were more abrupt and careless than ever.

It was painful to admit, but she had grown used to being humiliated in every way. Though the thought of killing him or making her escape still occurred from time to time she knew those were not paths she could take. Repel her as it might, Aethelflaed would have to give him a child. She had always known that would be her duty as a royal wife. And once she did, she would be freer to live on her own terms. Despite the horror she’d endured already, she reminded herself that as Lady of Mercia she would wield more power than she ever could in Wessex. If the cost was to bear a child to a man she loathed, it was no more than many other women had paid in their time, and the reward, she hoped, would be greater.

It was almost a kindness that Aethelred had turned his attentions from inflicting discomfort on her to merely impregnating her. His visits, though unpleasant, were shorter and he did not waste his breath with words. He certainly had no care for her enjoyment, as before, but fortunately, she was quite adept at finding her pleasure on her own.

Weeks passed, and she had her bleeding, which meant a brief reprieve from his attentions. Then the next month, she bled again. Her relief this time was tempered by bitter disappointment. She had hoped to fall pregnant already, for this torture to end. She did not look forward to Aethelred rejoining her when her bleeding ended. He did not levy his threat again, but the arch way he looked at her each time he discovered her failure was enough to make her blood run cold. Her terror was his own amusement.

Sable, always sympathetic, noted Aethelflaed’s distress upon requiring rags.

“You should not worry, my lady. It is not uncommon for a pregnancy to take more time than you have been married.”

It was small comfort, but comfort nonetheless. It had been nearly a year since they’d married, but only a few months since Aethelflaed had been without contraception. Perhaps Sable was right.

* * *

“The construction of another church would certainly help to unify Mercia. I believe we would all benefit from such a project.”

Aethelflaed smiled, nodding in agreement. “I suspect Father Alcuin would be pleased to help establish a church in Worcester.”

“I never see the man but he seems to beg for more responsibilities,” Aldhelm rejoined.

“The problem, as usual, remains with my husband. I do not know that he will approve this plan. He does not care as much for the church as I do.”

“That is certainly true,” Aldhelm conceded, “But I believe he could be convinced on the strength of his pride. He wants to be remembered as a benevolent ruler, despite what his behavior may indicate from time to time.”

Aethelflaed furrowed her brow. Aldhelm was right, but she was not confident in her ability to make her case before Aethelred in their current state. If she were to ask him, making herself meek and mild, he would likely goad her into insulting him.

“I would be happy to bring it to his attention if that is agreeable to you, Lady,” Aldhelm offered.

“I think that would be for the best, Aldhelm.”

“It is settled, then,” he replied. “I will leave you to your other correspondence.”

As she watched him go she found herself wondering if she would ever be so composed in the face of Aethelred’s complete lack of respect.

* * *

“My lord?”

Aethelflaed looked up from her plate. The captain of the guard had entered the room in search of her husband.

“What is it, Eardwulf?” Aethelred asked, already irritated. No one, it seemed, was in his good graces today.

“There is a military matter I would speak with you regarding,” Eardwulf replied, eyes darting about the room as if he were being watched from every corner. “We’ve just received word from our scouts in the south.”

“Is it urgent? I am quite busy spending time with my wife,” Aethelred replied drolly, looking to Aethelflaed.

She forced a smile. “Please, Lord, I would not interfere with such important matters.”

“Very well,” Aethelred sighed, rising to his feet. He gestured to Aldhelm, who was seated beside him. “I am sure Aldhelm can amuse you for a time.”

Aldhelm arched an eyebrow at Aethelflaed as the other men walked into the next room to speak alone.

“I hope you will find me sufficiently entertaining,” he said, taking a bite of a parsnip.

“Your enthusiasm is boundless, as always,” Aethelflaed replied, which caused Aldhelm to chuckle.

That pleased her. Still, Aethelred’s attitude nagged at her, despite how glad she was to be rid of him for a moment. “Aldhelm, are you not vexed to see how much he relies on Eardwulf now, above your confidence?”

Aldhelm ran his thumb along the edge of his plate, a smile playing upon his lips. “Am I not sufficiently vexed to please you?”

“You seem to treat it as a minor annoyance, Lord, rather than a potential catastrophe for Mercia.” She lowered her voice, and he leaned slightly closer. “I cannot believe that Eardwulf has anyone’s interest but his own at heart. I trust him no more than you do, and you must know him much better.”

“I do not know him well,” he replied, matching her low tone, “But I did know his father—the lord Eardwine, a proud man, with a very high opinion of himself. He had thought to claim the throne of Mercia for himself after the death of Lord Ceowulf…he was quite opposed to any union with Wessex, and that led to his downfall.”

“I am surprised that my husband relies on his son so closely, then. I am Wessex, after all, as much as I am Mercia.”

“Eardwulf is desperate, Lady. I believe your husband takes advantage of that.”

“You do not seem desperate, Aldhelm, despite your exile from his good graces. I wonder how you are not.”

“My purpose is to serve Mercia, Lady.” Aldhelm replied evenly. “I serve you. That is enough.”

Aethelflaed found her face growing warm, and she dropped her gaze to her hands, but she could not prevent herself pressing him further. “You don’t worry my husband’s nature may get the better of him without your counsel?”

“I do what I can. It does not suit to worry about what I cannot.”

“I wish I could adopt that outlook.”

She met his gaze.

“Is there something in particular that worries you, Lady?” he asked, eyes slightly narrowed.

Aethelflaed bit her lip, torn between wanting to confide in him and knowing he could not help her.

“Nothing, Aldhelm.”

He seemed poised to ask another question but the conversation dropped as Aethelred swept back into the room.

The Lord of Mercia was clearly in another of his moods, wearing a scowl and shooting ominous glances toward both of them.

“Danes have attacked the coast at Hrofescester, and your father,” he looked to Aetheflaed pointedly, “Is making it our problem.”

Aethelflaed glared back. Hardly a day went by that he did not insult some member of her family.

“Lord, with all due respect, what is trouble for Wessex is trouble for Mercia.” Aldhelm glanced towards Eardwulf, who hesitated in the doorway. “I am sure any of your advisors would agree.”

Aethelred’s sullen look towards Eardwulf seemed to confirm as much.

“What of the Lord Uhtred, and the brothers Erik and Sigefrid?” Aldhelm asked. “Has King Alfred called upon them as well?”

“Yes, for all the good that will do,” Aethelred said sourly, tearing into a piece of meat. “Heathen allied with Christian, fighting their own…”

“The Danes are not a monolith, Lord,” Aldhelm said.

“And what is more, Uhtred and the Lord Erik have done more for my father’s kingdom than Mercia has in a long while,” Aethelflaed continued.

She watched Aldhelm glance sharply towards her husband, but Aethelred merely presented a thin smile as he took a sip from his goblet.

“You speak quite confidently for a woman with nothing to offer anyone in this room.”

A haughty laugh spilled forth from Aethelflaed, surprising even herself. She rose to her feet swiftly, watching with pleasure as Aethelred flinched. Gripping the knife she’d been using, with precision she stabbed it into the table beside his hand.

“Nothing indeed, Lord.”

Her eyes drifted to Aldhelm, who appeared torn between amusement and readiness.

“You must excuse me, Lord Aldhelm. I have no desire to endure my husband’s foul mood.”

She brushed past Eardwulf as she left, still skulking in the doorway.

* * *

Aethelflaed expected her husband to visit her that evening and retaliate for her show of insolence, but he did not. Instead, Aldhelm knocked at her door as she was preparing for bed.

Sable made herself scarce, and Aethelflaed wrapped her robe around her and sat on the bed, prepared to be lectured for baiting Aethelred. Again, she was mistaken.

“We’re to leave at first light,” Aldhelm said. “Lord Aethelred will lead us. Of course, a portion of the troops will remain here under Beorhtric for the protection of the city.”

“I am surprised my husband agreed to go.”

“I believe he knows how displeased the king would be if he did not. He cannot delegate this task to you.”

“Perhaps he’s more clever than I gave him credit.”

Aldhelm bit back a smile. “Perhaps, Lady.” His eyes swept around the room. “You will not demand to go with us, then?”

Aethelflaed laughed. “Is that why you are here, Aldhelm? To talk me out of riding into battle?”

“I do not over-estimate my powers of persuasion,” he replied, then his face turned more serious. “If you intend to stay here, I am glad of it. It will be a brutal fight. Our enemies are determined to bleed Wessex dry from the coast inland, and the loss of life has already been great.”

Aethelflaed felt a knot in her throat. Her father, and likely her brother, would be in danger soon if they were not already, and Aldhelm would as well, one of her only friends left in the world.

“That is all. I do not require more of your time, now that I have informed you of our plans.”

He bowed his head, and as Aethelflaed looked at him she felt a strange ache within her, for perhaps it was the last time she’d see him. On impulse, she crossed to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then fell back immediately after, uncertain if she’d offended. Though Aldhelm appeared startled, he was not displeased.

“I wish you well, Aldhelm. Do your best to return safely to Mercia.”

He smiled, and she felt warm despite the chill in the room.

“I will do as you have asked, Lady.”

* * *

It was while her husband was in Wessex, just after her eighteenth birthday, that Aethelflaed’s bleeding came a third time. The knowledge that Aethelred would return to torment her further sat like a weight on her shoulders, like sickness in her belly.

The possibility that she may be barren had occurred to her, and that deepened the way her anxiety twisted within her now that she had failed yet again. Perhaps she would never be able to give Aethelred what he demanded. She had heard of women who were unable to fall pregnant or some who were unable to carry a child past the quickening. If that was to be her fate, she may have been dealt a harsher burden than she had realized. Aethelred could not have the marriage annulled—it would be political suicide. If she could not give him a child, he was sure to make himself free to remarry by other means. He could not rely on sending her into battle again. He would arrange a more direct attempt on her life.

Perhaps, she considered, it was Aethelred who was infertile—perhaps his seed could not produce a child. She had not heard that the Lord of Mercia had any illegitimate children, it was true, but it was unlikely anyone would have told her of them willingly.

She turned to Sable. Sable, in her wisdom, did not question why Aethelflaed was curious merely answered that she was unsure.

“If your husband had any children in Aylesbury you can be sure I would know, my lady. It is of course possible that he has fathered a child, but I would be surprised—gossip like that never stays secret for long.”

“I ask because I believe my husband may be…unable to have children, Sable,” Aethelflaed confessed. “I cannot help but think I would have fallen pregnant by now.”

Sable paused sewing to look sympathetically at Aethelflaed. “It is possible, Lady. I am sorry if that is a burden to you.”

Aethelflaed nearly laughed. Of course, Sable only knowing a portion of the story might think Aethelflaed relieved of danger rather than resigned to it.

“If you want information, you should talk to the Lord Aldhelm. He has known your husband longer than I have. If he’s fathered any children, Lord Aldhelm would surely know.”

“I will. Thank you, Sable.”

And Aethelflaed had another reason to hope Aldhelm survived this war unscathed.

* * *

It was St. Thomas’ Day, nearing Christmas, when Aethelred sent word. Wessex, with her allies, had been victorious. Both sides had endured great losses, but the invaders were driven out and peace in the south restored. Her father, brother, and Aldhelm were all alive and well but Aethelflaed could not deny her heart sank to hear her husband had survived. She knew how wicked it was to have prayed for Aethelred’s death, but her prayers had gone in vain. Perhaps that lessened the sin.

Aldhelm would return first with the greater portion of the troops. Aethelred remained behind with his guard for a time, intending to spend Christmas in Winchester. Aethelflaed knew he must relish exerting his new influence in Wessex. She gritted her teeth as she imagined him playing the dutiful son-in-law, hiding his true nature. He must be riding the wave of victory, congratulating himself for bringing Alfred’s triumph so swiftly, as if he were the sole warrior responsible.

It did no good to dwell on such things. There were celebrations to be planned, and that would provide a distraction for a time at least.

The hall was adorned with garlands of holly, there was more than enough food for two weeks of feasts, and the people of Aylesbury were attend the Christmas feast to receive charity. Aethelflaed could not deny she was relieved that her husband would not be present to dampen her joy. Aldhelm would be beside her soon, and he was a welcome companion in Aethelred’s stead.

She had been lonely of late—no one to take meals with her, nor spend time with her outside of Sable and the other staff, none of whom were as close to her as Brynn as been—and perhaps that is why Aldhelm’s return on Christmas Eve filled her with such happiness. She greeted him and the other soldiers the moment they’d returned, thanking them warmly for their bravery. They appeared as happy to see her as they were to have returned home, Aldhelm not the least among them.

“I hope I have lived up to your expectations, Lady Aethelflaed,” he said as he followed her into the palace, his tone as carefree as she’d ever heard it. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold and his hair ruffled from when he’d removed his helmet. She suspected he was also glad that Aethelred had not returned.

“You have, and I am very glad to see you, Aldhelm. I assume you can tell me when my husband is likely to return?”

“I don’t expect it will be sooner than a fortnight.”

A better answer than she had hoped. She prayed it could be true.

“You and your men will join us tonight for the feast?”

Aldhelm smiled. “Of course, my lady. We are honored.”

* * *

Sable helped her to dress—a yellow gown, over which she wore a green woolen surcoat trimmed with fur—then secured her braids under her finest veil. Aethelflaed surveyed herself in a small mirror. If she had not known better, she would think she looked almost cheerful.

“It’s a beautiful gown, Lady,” Sable said as she finished securing the ties at the side.

“A gift from my husband, in happier times.”

“You will be happy again, Lady,” Sable said gently. “A woman as beautiful and kind as you deserves some happiness in life.”

Aethelflaed smiled, touched at the sentiment. “I am afraid we do not all receive what we deserve.”

“Perhaps not, Lady, but you will be happy tonight, I am sure.”

Perhaps she would. With Aethelred away, the possibility was certainly greater. But the impending conversation with Aldhelm was sure to impede her enjoyment if only due to awkwardness.

* * *

“I know that my husband has taken many mistresses, Lord. I wonder if he’s ever fathered a child by any of them.”

Aldhelm’s brows shot up, no attempt to hide his surprise as he turned towards her. Clearly he had not expected such a question in the midst of the feast.

“I’m sure my lady has nothing to worry about in that regard.”

“I’m not worried about his mistresses, Aldhelm. Nor am I jealous. Indeed, I thank the women among whom he splits his time.”

“That’s quite an unusual stance,” he replied, smiling into his cup.

“I don’t believe it is. I think you have much to learn about how women in my position view their particular struggles.”

He did not argue, merely tipped his head in silent acknowledgement.

“At any rate, that was not the point of my question. My point was to ask whether it is possible my husband is infertile.”

Realization dawned on Aldhelm’s face.

“He’s never fathered a child that you know of?”

“No,” Aldhelm replied cautiously, “but it’s possible the women in question take measures to prevent pregnancy.”

“Of course it is, I am aware. But you don’t think it odd that none of them have fallen pregnant, either by accident or in an attempt to secure a more comfortable future for themselves?”

“You may be right, Lady.” He studied her face, and she did her best to appear unbothered. Summoning the courage for this conversation had not been an easy task, despite the wine and feeling more confident in Aldhelm’s friendship of late. “This is the matter you have been worried about, I presume.”

She could not lie, but nodded and hoped her expression relayed the necessary information—that she did not ask out of jealousy or idleness, but fear.

Aldhelm frowned, glancing about them to ensure they were not overheard. There were no servants hovering, and the nobles on either side of them were engaged in their own conversations.

“He does have a mistress in Droitwich, Lady—Eadburga, wife of Leofwine,” he said in a low voice.

Aethelflaed raised her eyebrows.

“But,” he added swiftly, “She has no children by him. Her sons were born before she met Lord Aethelred.”

Aethelflaed glanced down the table towards her guests. “I expect everyone knows of her except me. I knew he took serving girls as he pleased, but a noblewoman…that is another matter.”

“She has a husband, Lady, if you were…concerned he intends more than a casual affair.”

“And her husband allows this?”

“Who is he to deny the Lord of Mercia?” Aldhelm replied dryly.

Aethelflaed took a sip of wine. He was right, of course.

Perhaps it was simply chance. Or perhaps Aethelred, as she suspected, was incapable of fathering children.

If that was the case, she would have to find another way to secure her position as Lady of Mercia, to secure her life. But how?

The conversation turned to lighter matters, but as she watched Aldhelm talking and laughing more than she was used to seeing him do in Aethelred’s presence, an answer to her question presented itself.

She could become pregnant by a man other than her husband, and Aethelred would never be the wiser. And what better man than Aldhelm?

No sooner had the idea crossed her mind than it astonished her. Perhaps it was merely the wine, she thought, as a blush spread over her cheeks. She set down her cup, turning her eyes away from Aldhelm.

Was she mad? How could she ask that of him? He would never agree. And she could not seduce him, use him without his knowledge—perhaps another man, but not one she considered a friend, and in the interest of secrecy she needed a friend.

But what other choice did she have?

So she would ask him, as absurd as that may be. If he objected, she could command him to obey her, but the thought made her head spin a bit. She prayed it would not come to that.

If it did, the cost might be her life.

* * *

Aethelflaed’s head was slightly foggy when she woke the next morning. Too much wine last night, and far too many wild thoughts. Without her husband to be wary of she had perhaps let herself enjoy the evening a little too much.

The morning consisted of readying the household for the second day of feasting, but things were very well in order without her assistance. Even Oswald, the steward, seemed in high spirits as he showed her the gifts that would be given to the staff and the people of Aylesbury who would filter through to pay their respects during the feast. She found herself silently repeating what she would say to Aldhelm when she saw him, but hours passed and he was nowhere to be found.

When he appeared, it was growing late.

She greeted him, then found herself at a loss for words despite her recitations. If he noticed her manner was a little odd, he did not mention it. He was midway through relaying a conversation with her father earlier that week when she blurted out, “I shall take some air.”

“Are you well?” he asked, brow furrowed in concern. “Should I fetch Sable?”

“No, Aldhelm, thank you. I merely require a walk. Will you accompany me?”

He tilted his head curiously but followed.

The winter air was brisk and the wind strong. A layer of sparkling white snow had fallen overnight, covering the courtyard like a soft blanket. The wind whipped through the hood of Aethelflaed’s cloak, and she clasped her hands together to warm them. Still, she preferred the chill to the stagnant air in the hall. She had been hard pressed to think clearly inside, and she needed all her wits about her for this conversation.

Aldhelm accompanied her along the city walls, and when they were clear of anyone who might overhear them she pushed herself to speak.

“I have a favor to ask of you, Aldhelm.”

“I am yours to command, Lady.”

She breathed a hollow laugh, watching the curiosity flit across his face again, then turned to gaze over the ramparts.

“My husband has demanded that I bear him a child, and he expects me to be with child soon. I am certain that if I fail him, he will find a way to be rid of me.”

Aldhelm said nothing, but she saw his posture stiffen from the corner of her eye.

“I must ask you to help me, Aldhelm.”

“My lady?”

Her words caught in her throat. She began wringing her hands as she summoned the courage to continue.

“Do you intend to leave?” he asked. “To return to Wessex? I am sure that could be arranged before your husband returns…you would have to beg sanctuary at Winchcombe until your father can intervene, but—“

“That is not what I am asking, Aldhelm,” she replied, wincing.

She turned to face him. His expression was nearly comical in its confusion. She would have laughed if her own stomach had not been tied in knots.

“My lady, I do not think I understand…”

She released a shaky breath. “My husband, for all his attempts, has not been able to make me pregnant. And I must conclude that the problem lies with him, not with me. If I am to bear a child, I must lay with another.”

Aldhelm’s eyes widened, the fullness of her request sinking in. “I cannot help you to bear your husband a child, Lady.”

“Can not, or will not?”

“It would not be his child, Lady Aethelflaed.”

“It may be, for all he or the rest of the kingdom would know of the matter.”

“Lady, you cannot be in earnest—“

“I can assure you, I am. I have no one else who can help me, Aldhelm. No one else I can trust. I can trust you, can’t I?”

“Yes, Lady,” he replied, almost defensive, “I would gladly help you to leave this place, I would escort you myself…but this—“

“It is for the future of Mercia as much as my own,” she replied, raising her chin to him. “And as for me…you’ve promised to protect me, Aldhelm. My life will be at risk until this comes to pass.”

He shook his head, brow furrowed, but did not reply, so she continued on.

“It is what Lord Aethelred wants. He’s stated in no uncertain terms that he expects it. And it will secure my safety and comfort here—furthermore, I will be in a position to give you all the silver you require.”

Aldhelm was looking away from her now, his gaze fixed north.

“My lady, I am not in need of silver. I do not mean to insult you—“

She bit her lip and placed a hand on his arm to turn him towards her. The concern in his face had deepened, but there was no pity in his eyes, and she was glad of it.

“I am begging you, Aldhelm. How can you leave me at the mercy of my husband when you have the power to prevent it? Haven’t I suffered enough? If you care for me at all—”

Aetheflaed’s voice broke. Her abduction, a marital bed plagued by Aethelred’s cruelty, the loss of her beloved companion, the fear and isolation, her husband’s indifference to her death…nearly a year of her life spent in a waking nightmare. Aldhelm may have denied the truth when first she was brought here, but she knew he could not deny it now.

His eyes remained fixed on hers. “If you ask me in truth…”

“I do truly ask.”

“Your husband can never know—it would be the end of me, to be sure, but you…”

“I have weighed the risks, Aldhelm.”

He bowed his head. “May I have time to consider? Time, perhaps, to devise another plan?”

Tears pricked at her eyes, possibly from the cold. Of all luxuries, of time she had the least. But she would not command him. If she could not persuade him, there was her answer.

“Very well, Aldhelm.”

Then, as if their conversation had been the most commonplace of exchanges, they returned to the palace.

* * *

During the Christmas service, cheeks burning as she thought over her conversation with Aldhelm earlier, Aethelflaed determined to drink less wine that evening. As it turned out, she was too busy attending to her tasks as hostess to drink much.

Aldhelm was not seated next to her, for she was joined by Bishop Ecgbert on one side and Oswald on the other. She was sure Aldhelm was glad of the distance after their conversation earlier—she was glad herself. Still, she caught her eyes drifting towards him more than once throughout the course of the feast, and she was sure she felt his gaze on her as well. She had expected him to behave more awkwardly, but rather than discomfort she felt a new kind of tension between them, something palpable in its potential.

Her thoughts began to drift despite the paucity of wine she’d consumed. She imagined Aldhelm delivering his rejection the next day, apologetically, sincerely…how would she react? She would not weep, there were no more tears to be shed. Perhaps she would be angry, and rightfully so. Perhaps she would refuse his rejection, demand that he do his duty to Mercia, stride forward with eyes blazing and order him—

Bishop Ecgbert’s voice broke through her thoughts, and Aethelflaed felt her face go red as if he’d known what she’d envisioned in her mind. She composed herself, her companion none the wiser as he prattled on about Saint Eanswythe, and she resolved to avert her eyes from Aldhelm for the rest of the evening.

When the gifts had been presented, most of the wine drunk, and the songs sung, Bishop Ecgbert retired and Oswald began to oversee the staff as they cleared the tables. Exhausted, with too many thoughts still buzzing about in her head, Aethelflaed returned to her goblet.

“A fine feast, Lady.” Aldhelm had taken the Bishop’s seat. “And how do you find Christmas in Mercia?”

Aethelflaed surveyed him down her nose. “You need not coddle me, Aldhelm. We can proceed as before.”

As before, as if she had not made a desperate plea to him merely hours ago. As if she had not just moments ago imagined him in quite a compromised position.

His mouth pulled to one side. “You believe I coddle you?”

“You are kinder than you need be, to be sure.”

“That is a thing I have never been accused of before tonight.”

Aethelflaed frowned. “I am sure you tease me.”

“I do not mean to. My apologies.”

“There you go, coddling me again.”

“How would you prefer I behave?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, watching the way the light of the torches danced across his face, flecks of gold shining in his eyes, softening his jawline beneath his beard.

“I would prefer honesty, Lord.”

“I promise always to be honest with you, Aethelflaed.”

It was the first time he had called her by her Christian name, and it was spoken in such a low tone she started, sure she had misheard him. She half expected an immediate apology, but as she looked at him she realized it had been no mistake. They were close now, nearly as close as they had been in her tent at Lichfield. She had not thought either of them would be so bold in public, even if the public was quite intoxicated.

His eyes darted down to her lips—she was not imagining it—then he rose from his seat.

“I will retire now, Lady. I expect you will care to retire soon as well.”

And he took his leave with a bow.

Aethelflaed sat frozen in place, wondering what he could have meant by that. The singing had died down, the hall, though still full of revelers, was no longer tuned and attentive to her. Heart pounding in her throat, she placed trembling fingers on the table before her and rose from her seat as well.

Instead of returning to her own chambers, she walked to his.

A knock at his door yielded no result. She hesitated, then opened it.

The room was empty.

She must have misunderstood him, she must. Flushing with shame, she returned to her own rooms.

Tearing the veil from her head immediately, Aethelflaed threw it upon the bed, feeling like an impetuous child who was due to be punished. Then she jumped as a voice which was certainly not Sable’s spoke from the room attached to her bedchamber.

“Lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I KNOW but I will make up for that cliffhanger next chapter, I promise!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed you can reblog the photoset [here.](https://aadmelioraa.tumblr.com/post/643916474917994496/aadmelioraa-the-last-kingdom-i-alternate)


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